


Lost Voices

by padawanjinx



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 09:36:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 46,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2063094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/padawanjinx/pseuds/padawanjinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prime's voice asked again, so softly, it barely carried in the short distance between them. "Could you give the order, Prowl? Could you sentence Bumblebee to termination?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Lost Voices

 

 

Disclaimer: Since I’m still waiting to get my name legally changed to Hasbro, I still cant claim any of the characters as my own, save for the names/titles, you don’t recognize. Any flames will be dealt with by Wheeljack. :D Con crit is welcomed and encouraged.

Summary: After a tragic accident, Bumblebee does the unthinkable. Now, mute and alone, he faces the consequences. 

Rating: M for possible future chapters

Authors Notes: this just came to me while I attended to monotonous chores. When the mind has only the constant drone of machine, its amazing what it comes up with! And NO, the drone of machines had nothing to do with Autobot or Decepticon…. It was a lawnmower. :D

All mistakes are Wheeljack’s. He was unsupervised. The authoress is completely innocent.

 

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“Optimus, you know our law,” Prowl said evenly, gazing into his leader’s optics. “The human law also dictates that a debt be paid.”

“There has already been a sentence,” Optimus said with great sorrow. The weight of the world seemed to hold itself upon his noble shoulders. Gentle gusts of air wafted through his vents, the sound rattling in the silence that stretched between them. The sorrow was evident in every striking feature of the appointed Prime, though disturbing, coming from such a great leader.

“Not what the laws from both societies demand,” Prowl added, stealing a glance inside of the prison cell. He dared not stare long for fear of what his processors, his mind, his spark, would do. He snapped his attention back to his leader, the Prime. The one who controlled all of the Cybertronian destinies. The one who was christened to lead them in times of peace, and in war. “The laws of both factions demand that he be held accountable for his actions. You know this.”

“Yes, I do,” Prime said, feeling his spark thudding dully in its casing. He knew the laws. Was well versed in the punishments allotted to the crimes. Each and everything in perfect balance. Laws protecting the innocent, punishing the wicked in equal measure to their crime. 

He knew of the punishment for this incident. The crime whose act was so severe and unforgivable, the penalty was termination. There was no way to get out of the sentence. The law was clear. The law was precise. The law distinguished between no faction, no loyalties, made no room for excuses, seeing nothing as justifiable in such circumstances. But somehow, Optimus couldn’t bring himself to say the words that would condemn the soul to termination. There were so precious few of his people remaining, and with the All Spark gone, his species was condemned to its fate.

“You have to make a ruling on this, before the humans decide to interfere,” Prowl said slowly, watching his commander’s face, finding the sadness in the blue optics, the weariness upon the stoic frame, stealing his resolve. He had to overlook these things if he was to perform his job. He oversaw the punishment details, from the petty pranks, to the horrible atrocities that now faced him from the darkened cell where a life hung in the balance. But when the crime was so heinious, he turned to the Prime, the only one who was allowed to make the tough choices in such circumstances. Prowl had to remain neutral, for if he allowed himself the indulgence of emotion, then he would put a permanent glitch in his system, having been unable to sort through the tumult of emotion, and the cold hard truth of fact. 

“Perhaps I can have a word with…” Prime started, but Prowl cut across.

“This can’t be covered up! The government’s compliance and alliance with us only extends to a certain point, and they are unstable relations at best.” Prowl gave a heated sigh through his manifolds, his worry about the human interference starting to eat away at the back of his processor. When the humans found out what had happened, they would demand vengeance, and they would be swift. Their anger over the loss of three young lives would ignite a full mob against the Cybertronians. A mob they couldn’t and wouldn’t fight against for fear of damaging the organic life and possibly creating more casualties.

“I can assure them that we will have dealt with the crime,” Prime said, ignoring his second in command’s blatant insubordination. “I won’t allow them to bring harm to him, to us. This is a matter that is for me and me alone, to decide. You are my people, therefore, my responsibility.”

“They won’t see it that way,” Prowl muttered darkly, his mind full of imagines from the internet of what infuriated humans could do. The sight brought a wave of sickness through his filters, his body threatening to purge in disgust. “They’ll want to see him punished, and they’ll want to be the ones that deliver the sentence.” 

“Not if I have anything to say on the matter,” Prime put in forcefully, clenching his hands and causing the servos to grind.

“Then you must make a decision,” Prowl said slowly, noting his leader’s frustration and obvious distress. Prime had been the figurehead of the Autobot forces so long, others had a tendency to forget that he was a mech, just like them. He had his faults, his fears, his worries, and his doubts, though very few had ever witnessed such vulnerability. The fact the Prime had allowed another to see him in such a turbulent state was a testament to how encumbered the flamed leader was with the presented options.

 

Prowl lowered his voice and extended a hand to clasp the wrist that was nearly twice the size of his own. He struggled to keep his voice steady, but failed at maintaining his collected façade. “Prime, you must make a decision. The law is clear, for both Cybertronian, and human alike. This type of crime is unforgivable, and according to our doctrine, you are the only one allowed to decide and enact the punishment. If you present yourself to be unable to control your soldiers, then the humans will turn on us. It’s a regrettable, but inevitable fact.”

“Prowl, can you honestly tell me that you wish for this sentence to be carried out?” Optimus asked softly, turning to stare at his Second.

“That isn’t what I’m saying,” Prowl said with an aghast expression. His optics darkened, his face lowering in shame. Another rare show of emotion from a reserved, uncomeatable mech. “I wish none of this had ever happened. I wish we were all back home on Cybertron, free from war, free from pain, free from suffering. But I know that it did happen, and my wishes are illogical in this situation.” He raised his head, giving his leader a wounded expression. “But what I feel is immaterial. The fact remains that three humans have lost their lives and the one responsible has admitted to the crime. To ignore our laws is to become savage, and I for one will not submit to such cowardice.”

“I know what the law dictates,” Optimus said forcefully, jerking his hand away with a hiss, earning a slight flinch from his Second. Normally the Prime wouldn’t have reacted in such a fashion, but both mechs were facing the most painful decision in all of their long lives. Prowl lowered his head, realizing his words were ill spoken.

Prowl was silently glad he wasn’t the one that had to make the ultimate decision, and a part of him mourned for his long time friend and leader. Both were teetering on the edge of a breakdown, refusing to believe such atrocious actions had been performed. And it was their duty to render the termination verdict on a being who was suffering so deeply. 

“I’ve had the laws drilled into my processor since I came online. We all have! But I was entrusted with the full depths of our law, the lessons practiced repeatedly in preparation to be made Prime! It’s not an easy task, nor simple burden to bear, and there are painful choices that demand to be made. But this…” Prime waved his hand towards the darkened cell, where the being in question remained in stony silence. “This is asking too much! It’s a choice I’m not willing to make!”

“You will ignore our laws?” Prowl asked in surprise, finding Optimus’ anger to be worrisome. Never in their many millennia together had Prowl seen Optimus in such impassioned aggravation. He had witnessed grief and pain, worry and dubious exasperation, but never had he witnessed such rage and virulent anger from the normally stoic mech. Prowl felt a prickle along his neural net, and suddenly could see the resemblance between Optimus and Megatron.

“Times change. We change. What we took for granted before can’t be so now,” Prime said, lowering his voice and reigning in what control he had remaining. Air circulated through his systems and cooling fans kicked into high gear, punctuating the leader’s words. “The war has been long. The price, too high. I’m not willing to sacrifice another life for the sake of laws that were made before our world, our people, were devastated, scattered to the stars.” Prime’s optics bore directly into the navy blue of his tactician. 

 

Prowl opened his mouth to speak but Prime cut across. “I won’t give the order.” His voice dropped so low it was barely discernable to the tactician’s audios. “I can’t.”

“He killed three humans!” Prowl interjected, his anger directed more to his leader that was showing such vulnerability, than towards the being sitting in the cell. “Murdered them! In cold blood! He feels no remorse for his actions. Are you sanctioning such behavior? Because that is what the humans are going to think. And you know they are going to demand retribution for this!”

Prime allowed his gaze to drift to the barred window into the cell. His voice, usually commanding and booming, was meek when he finally spoke. “Could you give such an order, Prowl?”

Prowl visibly recoiled, finding the question to cut through him like a Decepticon blade. His face contorted in bewilderment, his processor misfiring as his logical mind warred against his mourning spark. He glanced through the window into the soundproof cell, noting the mech in question was sitting in the dark. A silent ghost, a former shadow of himself. The optics that once shone in vibrant life, now stared dully, dim, and distant. 

Something was missing. 

Something was lost. 

No happiness or joy glimmered. No emotion at all in the battered face. Just the look of total, blank submission, waiting for the final sentence. The word that would seal his fate and end his misery. He had acted with extreme hostility, taking the life of three humans, finding their screams barely assuaged his anger, his inner turmoil more than his spark could bear. Unable to voice his pain, he had taken measures against the humans, allowing their anguish to mirror his own. But it was a false pleasure. Empty comfort. After he had allowed himself to torment the wicked and undeserving, he had went before the Prime, not bowing down in shame, but in utter exhaustion, his story bubbling up from unknown depths via broken transmissions and scattered memory files. Prime had immediately ordered his incarceration, to which he went willing into the darkness, a darkness that was fitting for the emptiness eating away at his internals.

He had succumbed quietly. No arguments. No protests. No pleas for leniency or excuse for his actions. No lies, no deceit, no bargaining or anger towards his jailors. He was nothing but a complete autonomic being, allowing others to direct his movements, no thoughts entering the turbulent processor. There were no considerations of escape, no excuses, no reasoning. 

He was only a silent shell, awaiting the verdict that was sure to come. A sentence that was understood, before the crime, and was accepted as his fate. A punishment for the unthinkable.

He stared at the cell door, towards the Prime and the Second in Command, unable to truly see them, his vision not allowing cohesive focus from long, restless, endless days of recharge. When his body could no longer function without the much needed rest, he would fall into fretful dreams, his mind replaying the horrible events that had led up to his impending execution. The day when his life had truly ended. 

He stared back at the dark cerulean optics of the Prime, the mech that held his fate in his capable, battle-scarred hands. He had once been bestowed with kindness and benevolence from those brilliant orbs. Now, they looked to him with shame and sadness, grief and worry.   
Had that look been given to him any other time, he would have quelled, stalling his actions, allowing his processor time to catch up to his already determined spark. Now, nothing mattered. Not anymore. Not even the look of aching worry the Second bestowed on him. 

 

Prowl felt himself lean forward, though unconscious of doing so, placing his hands on either side of the cell window, staring intently to the apparently lifeless shell sitting in his cell. He had never considered this day to happen, these actions, these hideous twists of fate that would lead them to this horrific decision.

Prime’s voice asked again, so softly, it barely carried in the short distance between them.

“Could you give the order, Prowl? Could you sentence Bumblebee to termination?”

 

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Like it? Hate it? If you would like to leave me a note, please feel free to hit that little review link. Afterall, reviews are like a buffet to a starving person. :D


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

 

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One Month Previous:

 

Sam gave a hoot, laughing manically as Bumblebee took a corner a little faster than legally recommended. His tires made a soft scream as he gunned his engine, feeling elated at the air whipping through his manifolds, pure and clean. 

The air of Cybertron was heavy with elements and contaminants, most mechs finding it to be unpleasant for extended periods of time. During Bee’s younger days, he found the air to be just another substance in which to play, his natural youngling inoculation against deterioration and corrosion guarding him against the elements that adult mechs had found so uncomfortable. As he got older, the natural acidic nature of his home atmosphere started to wear on his more sensitive circuits, giving him the first taste of what many a Cybertronian had avoided and warned him about. 

That had been a carefree existence. Full of curiosity, enjoyment, happiness. His naïve mind was unaware of the dissent growing amongst the populace. The whispers of uprising, the rumors of slaughter, never touched his virgin audios. He had wondered why the adults had sequestered him away, teaching him things that seemed far too difficult for a youngling of his stature to consider. He had learned quickly, gaining some recognition for his triumphs, his maturing mind slowly piecing together the bits of information, until he came to realize he was being prepared for war. He was training to survive, his skills being honed and practiced, sometimes his physical body taking the toll. He had enlisted to aid the Prime of Cybertron, though his youth was brought to question for such a position. But with the pressing of time and desperate need for enforcements, Bumblebee had been granted his requested station.

Then the All Spark had been put in danger, Megatron gaining power, his ranks swelling at an alarming rate against the inexperienced Prime that tried to maintain a sense of peace to his erupting planet. Then came the massacres. The energon-lust of the power hungry overlord had consumed his followers, their own energon flowing heatedly through their bodies as they carried out his orders. Mechs fell, some having the fleeting image of their spark being ripped from their torn bodies before their life faded out of existence. The few femmes that had been captured were given the ultimatum. Either join Megatron and overthrow the Prime, or be terminated. Most opted for the termination, realizing that the tyrant was also searching for a mate, and made it clear that he would keep the femmes for his own entertainment. If any strayed from his domain, he would have their spark, and the spark of their potential mate, each having to watch as their other half was tortured and mutilated, eventually terminating in a slow agony. 

Bumblebee had found several of the femmes that had witnessed Megatron’s extent of mercy. Their lifeless bodies displayed in grotesque arrangements, their faces frozen in abject horror as their fate was delivered. Energon and oil had stained their corpses, the ground, their fellow victims. Pools of the once glowing bluish liquid had formed, a haze of pearl capping their surfaces and crusting along the edges, drying, withering away into faded memory.

When Bumblebee had returned and relayed what he had found, Optimus Prime had granted him a temporary leave of duty, finding the youngling often wandering the halls of the Prime conglomeration, his face contorted into pain and confusion, his naïve spark unable to grasp such a horrible end. Many a night, Bumblebee had fallen into a fitful recharge, unable to find the normal solace that once welcomed him into slumber. When he would awaken from a particularly disturbing imagine being replayed in his subprocessor, he would find another of the Autobots nearby. Optimus, Ratchet, and Ironhide being an almost constant companion during the recharge cycles. But the thought of withdrawing his allegiance never occurred to him. He was determined to remain on the Autobot forces, and no power would pull him from his chosen position.

The All Spark had been jettisoned into space, partially thanks to a determined Bumblebee, Megatron battling every mech emboldened with the Autobot emblem, raging as he watched the one thing he wanted disappear from the atmosphere. His anger doubled, easily dispatching many a seasoned warrior, taking several hits, using the pain to encourage his body to fight harder. Destroy as many Autobots as possible. Make them pay for keeping him from his prize. He had attacked the smallest of the mechs, the one that was responsible for setting the coordinates and initiating the launch. But during his battle induced haze, he didn’t foresee protectors for the smaller mech, not understanding that he was trying to terminate the last of their kind. The last youngling to open their eyes, to come online in a world full of learning, inspiration, danger, and potential.

Megatron had taken a direct hit from the unmistakable blaze of Ironhide’s cannon, the impact making him lose his hold and unable to complete his task of terminating the miniature menace. He felt wires disengage from the throat of the small mech clutched so cruelly in his hands and gave a terrible wrench, earning a pitiful whine that faded into silence as the being’s voice was taken by his brutal grip. 

Megatron had retreated, taking the remaining of his warriors to their base. Both sides needed the time to recover, regroup, and plan for their next offensive. The Autobots were barely ready to counter an attack when a plea came for peace, signed by Megatron himself. The cruel leader had claimed heavy damage, both to his physical being and to his troops. They wished a cease fire, and asked for a proposal to be offered, knowing their treason was an immediate sentence for termination. Optimus Prime had taken the request to spark, unable to give the order that would terminate his own brother. Though Megatron had definitely earned his death sentence, there was still hope that he could see the error of his way, return to the life of peace and servitude that he had once shown. Optimus had drafted an immediate proposal for Megatron’s surrender and subsequent incarceration. Megatron replied that the terms were accepted and had given coordinates for the surrender of himself and his troops.

Prime and his soldiers had waited at the designated place, finding it to be abandoned and lacking all forms of life. When the Autobots contemplated being duped, several of Megatron’s soldiers showed up. The Autobots, expecting surrender, were taken partially unaware by the onslaught that had surrounded them. Luckily, Prime had taken precautions as well. Their back up army appeared, flanking the Decepticons and taking them down. It had been a short fight, but taxing and many sustaining injuries to already damaged bodies.

When the Autobots had returned to their base, they found only one mech alive, who survived long enough to tell his leader that they were attacked by Megatron, their systems hacked, the coordinates for the All spark’s trajectory stolen. The mangled mech had expired in Prime’s arms, Bumblebee later learning the mech was the communications officer and had helped train Optimus when he was a youngling. Bumblebee had wondered how Prime could have remained resilient, issuing orders, dividing his troops, commanding the army that had pledged themselves to him and his cause, when his mentor lay broken and lifeless at his feet by the hands of his own brother. 

Finding his resolve, Bumblebee had immediately volunteered himself for the long, arduous journey of searching for the All Spark, and if possible, bringing it back to Cybertron, where it was to be hidden. Optimus Prime had had his misgivings, but after a rather convincing lecture from Bumblebee, all delivered via internal comms, allowed the young scout to take his place among the stars. Bumblebee had said farewell to his allies, his friends, and took to the heavens, following the faint signal of the All Spark. 

For many months, each second bleeding in excruciatingly into the next in a dull, boring existence of residual energy patterns, Bumblebee detected a strange object. He found the chunk of metal twisting in a dizzying pattern, part of its hooded relay smashed in. It resembled a basic satellite that Cybertronian younglings were given as play things. Strange markings adorned the devastated hull, some letters pock marked with colliding space debris. Bumblebee was unable to read the glyphs, being unfamiliar with the writing and having no base language in which to translate.

Occasionally Bumblebee would come within communication’s range of his wayward kin, giving reports of what was found, who had been lost, latest projected course of the All Spark. It was during one of these quirky transmission times that Bumblebee learned the All Spark had altered its course, having struck a comet, collected the heavy elements, and was now hitching a ride at an incredible speed, coexisting with the celestial body as it circulated on the natural rhythms of the living universe. 

In space, there were no friendly elements for Cybertronian usage, no abundance of usable, friendly gases to replenish systems and assist in repairs. 

Nebulas were few and far between, the solar winds and cosmic ripples of the living universe dissipating the fumes before they lit upon their own adventures from their parental cloud. The gaping void between stars and other heavenly bodies was vast. Months, years, eons could pass before coming into contact with the next celestial beacon. Those few months when Bumblebee had scoured the galaxy, searching for the All Spark, had been the most troubling, loneliest time in his comparatively short existence. It was a feeling he didn’t wish to repeat. 

Ever.

And then he found Earth.

Here he had found peace. Happiness. Contentment with finding a human boy that had shared his zest for life, his torment over atrocities, his willingness to sacrifice himself to save the world, his people. Here, he found someone just like himself. Someone to share in the wonders, the triumphs, the pain. Someone who could understand. Another young soul, stricken by the horrors of war, and finding their place in the unstable world.

Here, one could forget the horrors, put the nightmares to rest. Find solace in the warmth and companionship of a small, frail organic. Someone, with whom to belong. Bumblebee had taken to young Sam Witwicky as a friend, a confidant, a brother.

Said human was laughing hysterically, clutching at the seat and urging his friend onward. Bumblebee slowed to the next turn, knowing its treacherous history, and eased himself into the curve, accelerating on the outside and gaining speed once again. Sam’s friend, Miles Lancaster, shared the front seat, yelling at Sam to shut up, lest they become a smear on the pavement.

“I would never allow that to happen,” Bumblebee assured the wily teen as they continued on their trek, their enjoyment causing the day to slip by at an unexpected rate. 

At first Bumblebee had been hesitant in meeting Miles, knowing the boy from past experiences when he thought the car was just a hunk of inanimate metal. Miles was high strung, easy to overexcite, and had a tendency to think there were conspiracies around every corner. To introduce him to aliens seemed to be a very bad idea, until Sam assured his new friends that Miles was his oldest pal, practically a brother to him, and that he would be cool with them. Sam had done the introductions to Bumblebee, telling Miles that his Camaro was really a sentient robot from outer space, to which the teen laughed at his long time friend and mentioned something called a ‘loony bin.’ Bumblebee had transformed at Sam’s instruction, going slow, remaining down on all fours to keep himself as small as possible as to not overwhelm the flighty boy.

Instead of being scared, as Sam had predicted, Miles had been enthralled and excited, demanding to know details about the aliens, some of the questions causing Sam to blush, yelling at his best friend about the propriety of his inquiries. Bumblebee had found the questions to be funny, and even filed a couple of them in his memory banks to ask the adults when he got the opportunity. Miles had raised some interesting questions, and Bumblebee found that his curiosity had been piqued. The questions he could answer, Bumblebee had been gracious, even repeating some things several times so the information would stick in Miles stubborn brain. And with his genuine curiosity, came the realization that all this time, he’d been riding around in a sentient machine, even having rather disturbing conversations with himself as he waited for Sam in the car. Bumblebee had assured the young man that he harbored no ill feelings towards him, even for the feet on the dashboard habit that he effected every time he got in the Camaro.

To ease the teen’s misgivings, Bumblebee had offered to take them on a joy ride, exercising his tires and pushing the limits of himself and the speed law. He kept a constant check on the real time satellite feeds, only wishing to appear reckless and dangerous as the two teens prodded. They had traveled through three different counties on their joyride, Bumblebee gaining access to Prowl’s police bandwidth and assuring the tactician that his motives were pure. Bumblebee had kept a close eye on the human law enforcement, checking regularly to ensure he wasn’t caught on his joyride, and Sam earn the ticket and reprimand from his parents. Bumblebee didn’t wish to sit in the driveway for two weeks while Sam was grounded. And if Sam earned a punishment, Bumblebee was sure that Prime would hear about it and institute his own restrictions. Bumblebee enjoyed his new freedom, being on a world with no Decepticons, their forces gathering by the day, his processor allowed to revert to his childhood, which had been cut so short by the war. Like any other adolescent, he loved to test the boundaries, enjoying the occasional reckless behavior, letting the fun, enjoyment, beauty of the planet and its organic populace, fill his being and help ease the suffering in his spark that had lingered for far to long in the youngling. 

Sam had called his parents and told them he was out with Miles and that he would be getting in late. Judy Witwicky was hesitant, but realized her little boy was becoming a man, and needed to find his own way, stretch his wings and exercise some freedoms. She had agreed to extend his curfew to one, but if he was one minute late, she was phoning Optimus Prime and reporting a runaway son and Camaro. Sam had assured his mother that all would be fine, and the trio were barreling down the highway, no cares in the world, feeling as if for that one minute, all was perfect in the world.

A long day was spent, racing along the interstates, sightseeing along some of Earth’s beautiful horizons, to which Bumblebee had become a consummate tourist, taking pictures and film of the two friends as they made faces and macho poses for the ‘camera’. Sam had used his cell phone to take pictures of Bumblebee, one of him parked in front of a high quality hotel catering to a science fiction convention. The sign out front read, ‘All life forms welcomed. No questions asked.’

Bumblebee slowed when a police car pinged his radar as the trio were winding their way home, heading for Tranquility. Sam and Miles had taken to dozing in the front seat, their complete trust in the little bee returning them to the safety of their homes. Bumblebee was content, his internal communications active with the buzz of other Cybertronians, two humans residing peacefully in his care. Their presence soothed his processor, their warmth seeping through the seats and giving his spark the much needed solace from eons of war. 

Bumblebee took his exit, gaining the highway that lead into Tranquility, dropping his speed to the mandated fifty-five miles per hour. Miles waved a tousled goodbye as he staggered up his stairs, Sam waving half-heartedly to his best friend and mumbling something about seeing him tomorrow. As Bee pulled away and headed to Sam’s house, his memory banks uploaded pictures to the Autobot headquarters of the trio’s day, the young scout ignoring the errant griping of the older mechs about the slideshow cluttering up the bandwidth. Ratchet get a rather stern rebuke when the motel pictures were scoured. Apparently there was a rather lengthy lecture awaiting the reverted youngling. Sideswipe offered a rather more in-depth explanation, to which his life was threatened by the entire command staff. 

Bumblebee didn’t understand why they were getting so upset, so instead, he ignored their chattering and concentrated on his passenger. The steady, even breaths of the once again slumbering teen, the soothing rhythm of Sam’s heartbeat, lulled Bumblebee into a contented frame of mind. So intent on his serenity, the yellow Camaro didn’t recognize the weaving SUV, headlights flicked to full intensity, until it crossed the median. Bumblebee had one astrosecond of shock, before his world dissolved, unknowing his life was soon to follow.

 

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I know I kinda slipped into ‘nostalgia’ mode, but I wanted to give a background/history of Bumblebee, so people could have a better understanding of what he’s witnessed/suffered. And I truly think he has a deep connection to Sam. I kinda look at it as if Sam is a reason to keep fighting the monsters and saving his planet so he wont have to suffer like Bee has. Protective, brotherly, whatever you want to call it, a part of Bee’s young psyche has attached itself to the teenager, at least in my opinion. 

Thank you for your time and reviews and I hope to see you next chapter.


	3. Chapter Three

Lost Voices 

Chapter: 3

000000000 00000000 00000000 0000000000 00000000000

 

Pain.

Unlike anything he ever experienced before. That burning, twisted, sparking chunk of metal that had once been his sleek vehicular form, now lay crumbled and defeated, his tortured remains slammed cruelly into a telephone pole, the massive form of the SUV holding him into place. With a brilliant display of pyrotechnics, the power lines snapped from their roosts, sending cascades of stars onto the unfortunate vehicles below. The heavens weeping in foreseen despair, showering those that lay at its feet in burning tears. Those whose fate had already been sealed. 

 

As the lines sparked and undulated like poisonous snakes, the street lights flickered into darkness, the outlying district thrown into blackness. The few scattered houses that dotted the landscape were already dark, their owners having thrown their shadows to the outside world. 

Warning messages flashed red across Bumblebee’s displays, his ocular relays having taken severe damage and not allowing him to perceive the world around him. He tried to engage his subroutines to activate some sort of visual relay, needing to know his current situation, but every time he tried to access them, error messages scrolled across his inner thoughts in a bleeding cascade. Feeling his pain receptors starting to fire with the agony now awakening his relays, Bumblebee tried to initiate his radio to call for help, but found only mocking static to his pleas. He tried to access the Autobot’s private wavelength, only to find a series of error messages that began a rather extensive list of the damage his body had sustained.

Radio was out, as was his transformation protocols, though he would never attempt such a drastic move with his best friend still inside his interior. His direct link to the internet was down, so there would be no way to hack into a bandwidth and call for assistance, both from the human emergency services and the Autobots. 

Finding it more and more difficult to remain conscious, Bumblebee strained his vocalizer, hoping to get a report on the incident from Sam, but a sharp pain made him hiss angrily through his torn vents, though the sound was as soft as an infants sigh. Unable to get a visual account, Bumblebee had to hazard a guess as to his current position. 

From the searing pain on either side of his doors, he guessed he was pinned between the thin, wooden sticks the humans used to support their telephone and power supplies, and the metal mass pressing against his driver side door. Mobility was impossible to contemplate, his wheels locked in a contorted angle as he had taken the hit on his front fender, smashing into the wheel and quarter panel on the now bowed strut. As he considered just waiting for someone to call for emergency vehicles, one of the power lines sparked dangerously close to his front tire. If his awakening pain receptors were any indication, his protection grid was nonexistent. If the high voltage line made contact, it would be extremely uncomfortable, possibly life threatening. Hoping to dislodge the heavy SUV from his side to escape the twisting, live line, Bumblebee attempted to move, the action causing him to erupt in a high pitched electronic whine. Abandoning the attempt, Bumblebee focused on his vocalizer, which burned, sending white hot pain cascading throughout his body. The action caused the numbed sensors to come online fully, flooding his processor with confusing, consuming pain. 

“Ssssaaammmm?” Bumblebee rasped out, the strain costing him what precious energy he had left. An electronic whine escaped from somewhere in his interior, the pitch reaching a deafening level before disappearing into the sonic airwaves.

Sam made no movement, nor gave any signs of recognizing his friend’s voice as he lay slumped in the leather seat. 

Bumblebee groaned as his sensors sent garbled messages, raw and bleeding. The sweet darkness of stasis called to him, but he forced the sensation away. He had to check to see if Sam was alright. He was his friend. His charge. He was responsible for Sam’s protection, his life. 

“Saamm?” Bumblebee tried again, and barked in pain as his vocalizer disengaged, a fiery spark jumping from under his hood. Lava-like heat erupted across Bumblebee’s sensor network, their deluge of information no longer able to be processed by the damaged processor. Bumblebee strained on his tires, waiting for the wave to pass, his vents expelling precious little to help assuage his systems. 

Bumblebee tried to speak again, the effort sending more urgent messages scrolling across his HUD. Fighting the urge to panic, now being mute as well as blind, Bumblebee tried to access back up protcols, only to find that they too had been knocked out from the double impact. Bumblebee felt a tremor run though his body, a retaliation against whatever foreign object was now lodged dangerously close to his main processor, and Bumblebee felt his spark hitch with the sudden knowledge. If the sharp implement now scratching his surface network relays intruded any further, his CPU would be compromised, his very existence, erased. 

One of the powerlines bounced from the sidewalk and slammed against the twisted hood, Bumblebee’s now defenseless shell taking the full impact of the voltage. As the dancing line taunted Bumblebee’s already damaged hood, the current passing in building waves of heat and pain, the line jumped to the middle of the hood, its brilliant tongue forking into the peeled metal and touching the sensitive circuits beneath. 

The pain laced through Bumblebee’s main processor at an astronomical speed, jolting his body in pitiful convulsions that had him rocking on his severely damaged struts. His consciousness wavered, his body becoming thankfully numbed as sensors exploded from the energy overload. The power line skimmed across the top of the hood, leaving behind a blistered trail, before falling to the sidewalk once more and writhing its way into unsuspecting verge. 

Bumblebee emitted a burst of static through his speakers, his only way of voicing his screams, when the compromised wires frayed, melted away and become a thick teardrop of molten metal that hung from the acoustic amplifiers. A supplicating whine issued from the speaker, the tone fading away into nothingness. Bumblebee tried desperately to repeat the sound, but the agony running along every neural relay and circuit board was too much to bear.

Unable to speak, unable to reach his comrades for assistance, unable to check on Sam, his voice taken, he allowed himself to drift, welcoming the darkness, hoping it would claim him so he could wake from the living nightmare. But the damage to his CPU was too extensive. Subroutines couldn’t engage and allow his mind to safely go into deep hibernation. Pain filled his being, keeping him from slipping into a mild form of stasis, a way to keep his mind preserved while his body was found and repaired. With the crushing weight on both sides, Bumblebee rocked slightly on his tires, a habit from youngling years, to soothe away the raw agony tearing away at his being, but the movement only caused his agony to double. Bumblebee used the protesting structural chorus to call out, hoping against hope that Sam would hear, understand the terrible situation, and call for immediate help. 

But there was no answer. No stirring from Sam. No help was forthcoming. There was only the calm that lingers after tragedy, the stillness that settles after a cataclysmic grating of metal and sound. And the pain…. alone and mute in the darkness.

The silence stretched for an eternity.

The ecstatic power line finally found flammable purchase, and with a mocking spark, ignited some low bushes and dried grass. The brown vegetation gave way to vibrant green, which sent plumes of smoke in the air like coiled serpents, disappearing into the night. The heat warmed Bumblebee’s side, the sidewalk offering him some protection from the smoldering verge that slowly burned away into nothingness, the fire burning itself out before it could fully ignite the lawn.

Bumblebee mentally screamed. He had been counting on the fire to alert the sleepy residence, to which they would see the two vehicles smashed together by the firelight and call for help. He allowed himself a moment of silent screaming; his frustration and unendurable pain making him slip into an infuriated state of mind that had his memories skipping in and out of focus. The damage to his processor and loss of energon was robbing him of what strength he had left, and the silent pleas were only draining away what life he had remaining. As he settled on his tires, the sharp protrusion of metal near his neural relays moved ever so slightly, and pressed against his sensory circuit board. The metal acted as a conduit, bridging together enough of the erratic firing synapses, to allow Bumblebee a welcomed gift. A few sensors sputtered, giving hints of coming to life. 

Thanks to tactile sensors he could now sense the warm body in his interior. Fighting down the urge to offline, Bumblebee focused on the heat, using the muffled heartbeat to fill his being. That steady pulse of life keeping his, anchored. Still unable to see, Bumblebee had to use his now active sensors to probe the position and damage of his charge, his frustration coming through in little whines of his frame as he strained from the occasional neural twitch of misfiring synapses. Olfactory sensors came online, which Bumblebee found oddly amusing, his mind wavering for a moment as he was bombarded by the scent of burning wires and melted metal. A sickening combination of life and electricity, erratic tingles and the nauseating sensation of wanting to laugh until purging.

Snapping out of his dazed euphoria, Bumblebee focused his attention on the driver’s side, finding the slow, dull thud of Sam’s heart to be a great comfort in the dark. Bumblebee could detect soft wafts of air across his leather, signaling the boy’s continued life. Bumblebee mentally frowned, feeling a strange wetness sliding down the black leather and dripping on his floorboard. Bumblebee thought about attempting to rock on his tires again, but with the shrapnel now pressing intimately against another part of his processor, he didn’t think another attempt was wise. The spasmodic jerks caused by electrocuted neural relays were bad enough, any further movement could dislodge the blessed shrapnel and he’d be lost to the dark. 

His charge still functioned, his internals alerting the worried Camaro of his continuing existence. But something made Bumblebee give pause, his agony racked mind temporarily allowing the odd occurrence to dominate his thoughts. 

Sam’s heart had misfired. He had a steady rhythm, but for a split second, there was a triple beat in his living song. Bumblebee tried to call Sam’s name, hoping to gain the teen’s awareness, but the raw, tearing of his vocalizer allowed no such auditory emissions. He silently cursed at the injustice of it all. 

His charge, his friend, needed him, and he was completely useless!

He refocused his damaged internal sensors towards the driver side, filtering all sensation into the cramped compartment. Error messages wavered and disappeared into the background, random pieces of data coming into sharp focus before ghosting into oblivion. Only a handful of sensors were operational, and though their information was sporadic, a sketchy picture began to form.

What he found made his spark stop for a moment. 

Sam was slumped over the steering wheel, his left arm trapped between dashboard and steering column. His right hand was dangling lifeless at his side, touching the floorboard, and Bumblebee didn’t like the warmth that pooled there. Sam’s face was turned towards the window, and with a spark freezing comprehension, Bumblebee realized his frame had been bent by the much larger vehicle depressing his door. His once smooth glass had been shattered, the support frame bent and twisted, and with horror, Bumblebee focused his internal sensor and found that a part of his upper window frame had impaled Sam’s head, pressing dangerously into his tender flesh and pining him into place against the steering wheel.

The tang of copper hinted along Bumblebee’s perception for a split second, before his fading olfactory sense completely collapsed.

Copper.

He had detected copper. That was the hint of metal that raced through all human blood, a metal that bound them to their extraterrestrial brethren. Humans may be organic in structure, frail and short lived, but they had traces of elements in their bodies that gave them a link, however minute, to the Cybertronian bodies. It was a connection that all beings shared, no matter their planet of origin. Just as humans had base metals in their structure, so too did the Cybertronians have traces of organic matter throughout their systems.

Bumblebee barely had time to fathom the connection, before he noted the warmth now collecting along his steering wheel like a thick coat, dripping in syrupy ropes to pool on the floor. From what he recalled of human anatomy, humans contained a certain amount of their blood. When they lost too much, they would terminate, their life lost as their systems cooled, never to return online. 

Bumblebee tried once again to emit a sound, only to have a fiery hell lace his processor. His vocal capacitor felt as if it was covered in broken glass and dipped in battery acid. Every strain of the wires, every involuntary twitch, caused a ghostly scream to erupt from him, but he had to try. Sam was counting on him. Sam was bleeding, and from what Bumblebee could ascertain from his limited sensors, he was losing his life, fast. He was depending on his guardian to take him to safety. 

To call for help. 

To end this misery, for both their sakes.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter 4

 

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“Beeee?” Sam drawled, his voice sluggish. 

He was so very tired. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in a warm ball, close his eyes, and dream. At least if he dreamed he could ignore the pain. But then again, if he slipped into a peaceful sleep, and find the pain gone, he may not want to return. But he had to. Leaving behind his family, friends, and guardian was a choice he wasn’t willing to accept. There were still so much left for him to do. So many things to see, witness.

But still, there was so much pain.

Sam groaned, a scratchy noise that made his nose twitch. He tried to raise his hand to wipe the pestering tickle, but found his arms unable to move. His right side felt numb, which Sam was silently glad for. With all the other smarting stings along his body, he was thankful that something wasn’t aching. His left arm, he hazard, had sustained multiple compound fractures; if the burning pain along his skin and throbbing muscles were any indication. 

He tried to move his feet but his lower body didn’t want to respond to his commands, remaining steadfastly stubborn like his left arm. Sam tried to move his head, and instantly let out a blood curdling scream. His fingers flexed spasmodically, his muscles tensing in uncooperative, erratic jerks that sent fire racing along his spine, burning every bone in his body.

Something was imbedded in his skull, and from the way Sam’s head felt like it was going to explode, it was planted pretty deep. Ignoring the growing wetness on his face and soaking his hair, he concentrated his efforts on remaining stationary.

“Bee?” Sam gasp, finding his lungs refusing to fully expand. He had to know if his friend was conscious, if he had called for help, or their situation. There were too many unknowns, and Sam found he didn’t like being kept in the dark, both physically and emotionally.

When Bumblebee didn’t respond, Sam tried to hail his best friend since kindergarten, forgetting that Miles had been dropped off at home earlier. “Miles?” He swallowed, finding a bitter, coppery tang and held back the urge to choke out the vile taste. “Miles…. You….okay?”

Sam, facing the opposite direction and unable to move his head for fear of further impalement on the twisted shrapnel, tried to hear for any signs of life from inside the Camaro. There was a faint whisper of noise, barely audible. Sam had to strain to hear it, his ears feeling as if he had recently gone swimming and couldn’t get the water out of his ear canal. He heard muffled noise, and then the lingering quiet. Sam detected a dull hum of noise in his ears, sounding like a distant stampede.

Sam felt a wave of dizziness, and closed his eyes, moaning at the sensation he was on a roller coaster. He never really liked the amusement attractions, and the sensations he was feeling now reminded him why. He felt as if he rose on a huge tidal wave, riding the high, dancing along the crest, then falling, tumbling into an endless whirlpool that spiraled him up again. Fighting down the urge to puke, Sam opened his eyes again, hoping to focus on something unmoving to settle his churning stomach. The roaring in his ears sounded a little closer, becoming a low rumble that vibrated in his head.

He found a shard of glass, tinkling merrily at him from the busted frame of the driver’s window. It winked at him, the only remaining diamond that had shattered on the impact of a fast moving, larger body. Sam blinked slowly, staring at the little shard, the blackness of a chunk of metal contrasting behind it, giving it a velvety cushion on which to shine.

Sam gave a weary sigh, finding the pain along his mangled arm to be subsiding. He could perceive his fingertips now, though a warm numbness threatened to remove the sensation. He guessed it was shock dulling his senses and slowly taking away the majority of the burning pain. He closed his eyes, relishing the comfort his lids gave his parched eyes. But when he made to open them again, he found the task to be rather difficult. 

Frowning, Sam tried to move his fingers, finding them feeling very heavy now that the pain had receded to a more tolerable level. He rubbed his fingers together, finding them slick.

“Beeee?” Sam said with a heavy slur, his chest heaving with the strain of expanding his lungs. “Tal….talk…. to….me.”

Silence filled the interior of the Camaro. 

Bumblebee attempted to reroute his systems to offer some solace to Sam, but found his own body just as traitorous. A constant red haze laced his processor, every inch of his body wracked with damage and overwhelming his sensory grid. Bee tried to access his radio, his only means of communication with Sam when they first met, but found his tuning mechanism to be badly damaged. Even if he could pick up a signal, his speakers had been destroyed by the downed power line and electrical shocks that had nearly offlined him. He may travel on four rubber tires, but a living body couldn’t tolerate that much voltage and not sustain terrible side effects. Insulation only went so far. 

Sam let out a grating cry, trying to get his unresponsive body to cooperate. His fingers began to tingle again, numbness now tracing lazily up his fingers and into his hand.

Tears leaked out of Sam’s eyes, hot and stinging as they rolled down his face, the salt settling into the heavily damaged skin. Little pieces of glass glinted in the faded light as the saline drops caressed them. Sam coughed, finding it harder to expand his lungs for much needed air. He felt a strange heat steal over his body, warming him heart and soul. The heat traveled down to his mangled arm, his fingers giving a spasmodic twitch. His legs began to warm, as if soaking in a tub of hot water, his legs falling lax against the seat. 

Bumblebee wanted nothing more than to rock on his tires in testament to his continued existence, but the malfunctions in his subprocessor and mangled frame prevented movement. He remained immobile, stationary, inanimate as any other Earth vehicle. Unable to speak, unable to see, unable to call for help. It was the most desperate and disheartening situation Bumblebee had ever been in during his lifetime. His best friend was counting on him.

“Bee,” Sam groaned, his eyes feeling heavy, the warmth so inviting. Sam’s eyes fluttered, his breath coming in shallow gasps as the heat rose up through his mangled body, soothing away the raw aches and painful throes. Sam whimpered, closing his eyes and trying to shake his head as tears fell faster down his cheeks.

“I’m…..I’m sorry, Bee,” Sam muttered through his broken sobs. His lips felt dry and cracked, his mouth beginning to feel cottony. Every breath was heavy and scratchy. “I killed….. I kill…… killed you.” Sam let out a gasp, his voice catching in his throat as he strained to speak, the warmth pulling him in a tender embrace.

“I killed you Bee,” Sam sighed, his strength waning. His head lulled against the steering wheel, feeling the cool leather exterior for the briefest of moments. “It’s all my fault.”

And with a frozen spark, Bumblebee realized what was happening. Sam’s body was shutting down. He had lost too much of his precious life’s fluid. Bumblebee mentally reared, his spark fighting against its casing, not believing what was happening inside his dark interior. Calculating reserves, searching for hidden subcommands, accessing core systems that only medics were allowed to delve into, Bumblebee frantically searched his systems. He silently cursed himself for missing some of his upgrades, and mentally cried with frustration when he met firewalls and deadends. Had he possessed Prowl’s battle processor, he would have figured a way out of this mess before things progressed to this point.

 

Helpless, trapped in a traitorous body that refused to obey his slightest command, Bumblebee fought his aching processor for an answer to his situation. Immobile, unable to help the one soul that had began to heal a broken, tainted, battle worn spark and reminded the little scout that there was still beauty in the world, despite its viciousness and torments. He wouldn’t let his charge down! Not while there was still a spark left in his body!

Sam whimpered, his shoulders shaking in anguish as he remained pinned into place, the sharp edge of Bumblebee’s door impaled in his forehead. The warmth that threatened to drag him down made itself known in sharper respite, the pain in Sam’s extremities melting away. Sam choked, squeezing his eyes tightly to fight back the tears that threatened to overwhelm him. Trying to hold back his anguish only caused it to double, and with a gurgling rasp, Sam coughed, crimson staining Bumblebee’s display.

In a final fit of energy and desperation Sam cried out. “I’m sorry Bee! It’s all my fault! You’re dead because of me!” Another explosion of red splattered the display as Sam choked on the blood filling his lungs and throat with raw agony. “You were… You were my best friend, Bee! I loved you!”

Bumblebee wanted so much to tell Sam that he wasn’t gone, that he was merely injured, but the words couldn’t translate to his damaged vocalizer. A slow grind of metal issued from under the hood as the SUV shifted position and took some of the strain off the crushed Camaro. Silent in the darkness, Bumblebee called with his entire spark that his young charge feel his spark beat, to know that he hadn’t caused the death of his best friend. Error messages still flashed across Bee’s processor, unable to fully diagnose his damage and give a detailed report, their tartan codes a constant companion. He ignored the scrolling text, his mind still hoping to find a way to alert his charge of his continued existence. 

Sam’s hands clenched in his desperation as he cried out to his friend, waiting, hoping for a response. His body trembled as he felt his pinned left arm, move ever so slightly and graze across Bumblebee’s dashboard. 

“Bee?” Sam whispered, his breath sounding like a piece of paper trapped in a fan. He groaned finding a deep, peaceful warmth encompassing his battered body. With one last desperate attempt, Sam cried, “Forgive me! Forgive me, Bee! Oh, God, I’m so sorry!”

But the benediction never came.

Bumblebee’s damage was too extensive. He could only feel the shift along his dash, his optical relays and vocalizer ripped cruelly from him. He felt shame burn in his circuits, knowing his charge was so weakened and losing his fight with life, and Bumblebee was powerless to help.

Sam gave a slow inhale, his brow furrowing as his brain started to catch up to his body. His eyes fluttered, his body relaxed, fingers releasing their strained hold against the steering column, his lungs expelling in a sluggish gush. Sam closed his eyes, his voice trailing away, “Sorry…. Fault…. Love…. Bee.”

With a final whisper, Sam had perished. His last moment of life burned forever in Bumblebee’s memory banks. His best friend, his companion, his conspirator, had passed. Alone and surrounded by darkness, Sam’s final moment had been of sadness and shame, fearing his best friend had slipped into the next world. Sam’s choking sobs had entrenched themselves into Bee’s processor, his fading words repeating on a neverending loop as he cried out for his friend, unaware of his own life slipping away like the sands through an hourglass. Sam’s last desperate cry, the fear, the realization that his life was now at its end, had went straight to Bumblebee’s spark.

As Sam fell limp in the seat, his life essence drenching the internals of his best friend, his heart giving one last final beat in farewell, Bumblebee strained his damaged vocalizer, emitting a silent scream that none would ever hear.

 

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	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

 

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Bumblebee’s spark pounded in torment, twisting in the darkness, waiting for the nightmare to end.

Sam couldn’t be gone! He didn’t understand. Sam was right here with him, merely sleeping, slumped over the steering wheel. Unconscious, too deep in sleep to register his predicament, but still there. Bumblebee just had to alert headquarters to what happened and Ratchet would come and fix everything. 

Yes, Ratchet could fix anything. He would find them, repair Sam and allow him the chance to recover at home, where his mother would undoubtedly fuss and coddle him. Then when Ratchet had a good long rant about observing other drivers to keep yourself, and your passengers, safe, then he would repair Bumblebee. The little scout only hoped the medic would be kind enough to off-line all of his pain receptors, as the still active ones were giving him excruciating messages, some of them blending into the next in a haze of incomprehension.

He’d have to tell Sam about some of the messages. They were garbled and distorted, coming through in bursts and illogical patterns, but they were rather amusing. Sam would like them. 

The thought was barely through Bumblebee’s processor, when he realized he could detect voices. Turning his audial relays outward, Bee perceived several humans racing to the scene. One distinct male voice exclaimed the accident had been reported and that emergency services were on their way. 

Bumblebee felt his attention waver, the voices becoming as distorted as his error messages as sounds started to filter away into a hollow tunnel of disinterest. Humans flitted in and out of audio range as they took in the battered vehicles and called to the trapped bodies inside to render assistance and reassurance. 

Though blind and feeling as if his entire body was on fire, Bumblebee felt a strange kind of peace envelope him. A soothing touch to his mind, a gentle brush along his spark. He settled into these sensations, his processor pulling away from the continual scroll of errors. A beautiful hum filled his senses, blocking out the harsh reality that was around him. He allowed the sound to encompass his being, pulling his tortured mind into its comfort, drifting along its endless, winding tune that promised peace. So consumed by the new presence along his spark, Bumblebee allowed the world to slip away. 

Ambulances arrived, the EMTs assessing the victims and giving instructions to the fire department as they arrived. The SUV had to be attended to first, before the vehicle could be removed, allowing access to the driver of the yellow Camaro. A wary EMT had already crawled along the dented hood, using a rubber mat as a protective measure against any possible danger, and slipped his hand inside to check on the driver. Bloody fingers probed along the neck for a pulse, and upon finding a lifeless body, concentrated all efforts into aiding the three teenagers that were trapped in the SUV. 

A driver and two passengers were easily extracted and rushed to the local hospital. As the last ambulance rolled away, sirens blaring and lights flickering, the fire department helped move the SUV. With a sickening screech of metal on metal, groaning and grinding and a dull pop from under the crumpled yellow hood, the fire fighters help extricate the lifeless form trapped between door, steering wheel, and seat. The jaws of life easily pried apart the twisted metal, peeling back to expose the crushed body. Shaking their heads, the emergency workers placed the teen carefully on a gurney and covered him with a sheet, hiding him from view of the public that had gathered to witness the carnage. A woman in the audience gasp and clutched at her husband as Sam disappeared under a veil of white, her own son safely tucked in bed just half a block away. Just as the EMTs began to move toward their ambulance, a cacophony of noise erupted around the corner. Lights flashing an array of colors and a mixture of sirens announced the arrival of another police cruiser, followed by a chartreuse Hummer, and strangely enough, a black Topkick and flamed Semi, horns blasting along with the din. As the vehicles approached, the doors sprang open and a collection of military men exited, hastily taking up positions along the perimeter and ordering families to return to their homes. 

Usually emergency services worked in harmony with one another, but as soon as the military men exited their assorted vehicles, they barked orders for the remaining responders to take their leave. Their weapons gave a silent warning to those that wished to protest. The remaining ambulance began to pull away, but a man, dressed in olive drab, halted his progress.

“Do you carry a victim?” he asked without preamble.

“Yes,” the driver said, suddenly feeling very nervous as the semi began to expel large paneled dividers, the military men swarming along the opaque panels and positioning them so they hid the scene from public view. 

“Status?” the man asked in clipped tones.

“DOA,” the driver answered, trying to hide his anxiety. “The other three were top priority. They’re already at the hospital.”

“Vehicle of origin?” the man asked, motioning toward the back of the ambulance were two other soldiers positioned themselves.

“The yellow Camaro,” the driver said, watching in the rearview mirror as the soldiers moved. 

A strange look passed over the soldiers face. He nodded once to one of the officers stationed at the back of the ambulance and offered a curt, “Wait here,” before taking a deep breath and heading to the back of the emergency vehicle. Two EMTs protested as the door was opened, but the soldiers paid them no heed. 

“Out,” one ordered, using his weapon as extra incentive to follow his orders.

The two EMTs complied, lining up beside the vehicle as one of the soldiers disappeared inside. Sensing the threat, they kept their hands up in surrender, hoping whatever it was that had the military so interested in the common accident scene, they survived the ordeal to tell their friends and family. 

“Damn,” a soft voice said from the confines of the ambulance. The soldier returned from his inspection and hopped out, maintaining eye contact with the EMTs. “You are to take the body to Mercy General and under no circumstances are you to leave it until I send a couple of soldiers to deal with the transfer. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” they chimed in unison.

The soldier nodded toward the ambulance and snapped, “Take good care of him for us.”

They nodded mutely, returning to the cramped interior of the ambulance. The flanking soldiers slammed the doors while their superior went to the front to speak to the driver again. The man had watched the proceedings in the rearview mirror, and when he saw the dark look of the approaching soldier, he felt as if someone had just signed his own death warrant. 

“You are to take the body to Mercy General and await officers to be relieved,” the soldier stated, leaving no room for argument or debate. “I’m trusting that you can fulfill this vital role and protect this precious cargo. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir,” the man muttered, suddenly very afraid of what would happen if he decided to make a run for it. He didn’t like the look the soldier was giving him, nor the foreboding air that had settled around him as he learned the contents of the vehicle. 

“Carry on,” the man said, nodding toward the empty street.

The ambulance driver didn’t need telling twice. With lights flashing and sirens screaming he disappeared around the corner, leaving behind a contingent of sorrowful soldiers.

As the soldier approached his two comrades, one spoke. “So, Major, who was it?”

Major Lennox set his face into a blank mask, unwilling to show the torment that was now racing through his heart. He intended the words to be strong, relaying that he was as ever the professional soldier and leader of his regiment. However the words came out soft and broken, echoing the darkness as they approached the obstructing barricade. 

“It was Sam,” he said in a cracked, harsh voice. It was difficult to even contemplate the situation. His men gave him a sidelong glance, their faces mirroring the concern and questions that no doubt bubbled just below the surface. Lennox swallowed hard, finding his throat to be as raw as the Sahara desert, and added in a broken gasp. “He’s gone.”

The soldiers rounded the barricade and instantly stopped, noting the atmosphere.

“Slagging pieces of inadequate..” Ratchet was in full ranting mode, kneeling along the asphalt over Bumblebee’s scarred hood. “Jaws of life my aft! More like, torturing innocent bots who can’t fight back and assist in the situation! No! Just…. no….” 

Prowl was knelt beside the medic, his optics focused on the task at hand, his face, as ever, impassive. He was used to Ratchet’s tirades, as was every member of the Autobot forces. But something was off this time. Prowl could sense it. Ratchet’s words were their normal acerbic imprecations, but there was an underlying current that had never been present before. His mind concluded that since it was Bumblebee, the youngest of their forces, that was now hovering between life and death, that it was logical that Ratchet was just trying to vent his feelings. His worry must be so great that he was unusually curt, his optics staying focused to task, but a part of Prowl noticed the twitching growl that would emanate from the chartreuse chassis every time a human came to close. 

“Status, Ratchet?” Lennox called, noticing the difference in the medic’s posture and deciding it wise to maintain a healthy distance. 

“Bumblebee’s structural integrity has been compromised,” Ratchet said, keeping his optics on his work and feeling the unnatural need to crush something small and organic for all the readings that were currently being supplied through is uplink to the Camaro. “Main processor is down to twenty percent, there are nearly two dozen ruptures along his fuel lines, his venting conduits have been destroyed, his internal systems have heated to the point of near boiling thanks to the lack of ventilation, his processor is completely fragged, emergency protocols have been deactivated due to trauma, so he is unable to shut down completely into status lock.”

A sharp intake of breath drew Ratchet up sharply, a tremor coursing through his body as the pain and awareness attacked his sensor net from the one he was currently trying to save. When the pain subsided, Ratchet continued, oblivious to the stares of his allies.

“To add to the torment, he endured having his door ripped from his body by the human emergency workers while all pain receptors and neural pathways were still fully operational. Unable to find relief during emergency status lock, he is having to endure the torture as the pain keeps returning him to full consciousness.”

“He should be screaming his head off,” Lennox muttered, noting the eerie silence that had encompassed the makeshift enclosure. 

Ratchet gasped again. His vents were already open to their fullest, his internal fans working at maximum output, and still his efforts weren’t enough. He gritted his jaw, growling low in his frame as he twitched in time to the physical assault coursing through his body.

“He IS screaming!” Ratchet shouted, almost collapsing on top of his patient as the pain overrode his systems.

Prowl caught the medic before he could do more damage and set Ratchet back on his haunches. Though normally reserved and distant from the other mechs, Prowl placed a hand on Ratchet’s arm.

“If you require assistance, I offer myself as a buffer,” Prowl said, not liking the sound of Ratchet’s systems stressing to the point of nearly offlining him. 

Without warning, Ratchet slipped a cable from his wrist into Prowl’s neck, syncing with the tactician and allowing him to take the brunt of the pain Bumblebee was broadcasting through the connection. Prowl grunted once before falling backward on his aft, landing with a sickening screech of metal on concrete as he took the full force of Bumblebee’s pain. 

Now eased of the burden of trying to lessen Bee’s pain, Ratchet focused on Bee’s processor. Numerous codes and protocols had been compromised, thanks to the little shard of metal that was delicately touching the most sensitive part of Bee’s being. If that shard pressed any further, the files would not only be corrupted beyond repair, but Bee would lose himself. That part of Bee that made him happy, sweet, carefree, naïve to so many wonders, and seemingly endless well of energy and joy, would all be gone. Erased. Bee’s essence would be destroyed.

Ratchet carefully extracted the shard, thankful that Prowl was taking the raging torment that Bee was experiencing. When Ratchet had first made the connection, he had nearly dropped from the sheer intensity. Knowing Bee couldn’t be moved with the potentially life ending shard embedded so close to his main processor, Ratchet had tried to remove it only to be subjected to waves of excruciating agony. Every attempt at salvage was met with shaky hands and hitching systems that tried to compensate from the overload of error messages scrolling internally over Ratchet’s diagnostics. 

Prowl’s systems erupted violently, sending him flat on his back and crushing some of the low hedges that had been partially burned by the live wire. Thankfully, with the electric company so competent, the wire had been rendered inactive due to the protective blackout on the block. Prowl snarled, his fans screaming on high as he tried to fight down the overwhelming stimuli coming through the connection. Not caring that others saw his weakness, Prowl allowed himself one brief moment of emotion. A cry muffled itself in his vocalizer, before disappearing into a low whine that continued to waver in pitch.

“Hurry, Ratchet,” Prowl hissed.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Ratchet snapped back. Hand now steady, he removed the shard and sprayed a numbing agent along the circuits. It wasn’t enough to end Bee’s misery, but it did offer some relief. Ratchet dimmed his optics, focusing on Bumblebee’s mind, gently nudging it to accept his intrusion so he could initiate the repair patches and call up the secured codes that was send the young mech into deep stasis. 

Steady waves retaliated Ratchet’s probing mind. Panic, confusion and pain, all rolled into one massive, writhing ball of misery and sorrow. Ratchet tried to send soothing comfort through the tentative uplink, but Bumblebee’s processor was far to gone, consumed within itself, by itself. An all consuming osmosis that left nothing but fear and emptiness in its wake.

“I’m sorry, Bumblebee,” Ratchet muttered, using his medic overrides to slam against the feeble defense Bee’s mind was trying to form. They shattered instantly, a dark, tangible void to fill the emptiness that danced along the back of his processor. Ratchet felt the shaking violation, and cold surrender as Bee sagged on his tires, unable to fend off the mental attack.

“It will be alright, young one,” Ratchet said, verbally and mentally, hoping Bumblebee could understand him in his current state. “Just let go. There’s nothing to fear. Your friends are here to help you. Nothing will happen to you. Just…. let go.”

The words, or rather, the feelings that Ratchet was projecting was enough to crumble Bumblebee’s resolve. He felt Ratchet’s intrusion into his mind, finding the emergency shut down procedures and felt the welcoming blackness take him with greedy fingers. 

As soon as Bumblebee let go, Prowl visibly relaxed, his own systems no longer taxed by the injured Autobot. He lay for a long moment, feeling his own internal diagnostics scrape over his already raw processor, before steadying himself and returning to the cold, calculating tactician that everyone perceived him to be. 

Ratchet sat back, his face buried in his hands as he withdrew the connections to the youngest member of their army. Silence reigned in the small paneled arena. Finally, a small voice floated through the stony atmosphere.

“Can you save him, Ratchet?”

It was Major Lennox, and he was looking, not at the hummer, but at the Camaro, where the driver seat was bathed in blood. 

“It will take some time, and extensive repairs, but he will recover,” Ratchet said after a moment. He looked to the human and felt a wave of despair that wasn’t all together his, crash into his senses. “With Sam’s help, we’ll have Bee back on his feet in no time.”

Lennox’s face blanched. With a shaky voice he answered, “Sam won’t be there, Ratchet. He’s gone.”

Ratchet stared at Lennox for a long moment, his processor seemingly taking an age to decipher what the Major was trying to tell him. A strange collection of expressions flitted across his face.

“What?” Ironhide asked, breaking his radio silence. He had been monitoring the area for any possible Decepticon activity. They were still unclear as to what had happened to Bumblebee, and in case the attack was a trap to launch a larger assault, Ironhide wanted to be ready. 

“Major Lennox, are you certain?” Optimus Prime’s voice spoke up. His back was to the action, his optics watchful of their surroundings as he surveyed the neighbor with Ironhide at his side. “Perhaps he was taken in one of the other ambulances?”

Taking a deep breath, Lennox steeled himself for the news he was about to deliver. “I saw his body, though it was hard to identify him, but the ambulance driver informed me that his body was extracted from the yellow Camaro.”

Ratchet shifted, leaning to look inside the torn interior of Bee’s alt mode. The steering column was slightly askew, the dash cracked and covered in thousands of tiny glass diamonds that winked merrily at the medic. The seats were also coated in the fine crystalline dust, though the driver’s side was stained crimson, turning the diamonds into rubies. 

“It looked like his skull was crushed,” Lennox said, his voice hoarse. He didn’t want to think about such a young life ending in such a way. Sam had shown fierce loyalty and friendship, kindness and compassion, and intense courage, both for the yellow Cybertronian and in protecting life on Earth. He was a true hero.

“Oh, no,” Ratchet said softly, giving Bumblebee’s battered frame a sympathetic look. “What are we going to do?”

“We’re going to take him home,” Prime said, startling everyone with his loud, commanding tone. He revved his engine, thankful his voice didn’t betray the naked fear coursing through his circuits. Trying to pose as the strong leader everyone was expecting, Prime prayed to all deities that his pleas be heard, his spark already crying in torment knowing the young scout was unknowingly headed into an endless chasm of misery. 

For when Bumblebee found out his surrogate brother was dead, the consequences were going to be…. catastrophic. 

 

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	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

 

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Two weeks had passed since the accident. Eight more Autobots joined the ranks, but there was very little celebration in their arrival. Bumblebee was kept in deep stasis, his systems too unstable to allow more than a few repairs at a time while his repair nanites engaged the more intricate parts of the circuitry. Ratchet stayed by the scout’s side, often falling into recharge with his head on the repair berth. Twice he nearly offlined during a mandatory staff meeting, but his blunder was easily misdirected by the more sharp witted officers. Prowl had developed a certain knack for misdirecting attention from the exhausted medic and focusing everyone’s attention on other matters, giving Ratchet time to recover his senses. 

It was disconcerting, but the tactician simply stated that all contingencies concerning Sam had been prepared for and he would do everything in his power to see to it that all problems were dealt with discreetly. Ratchet wasn’t sure what Prowl was referring to, until Optimus explained about the human’s burial rituals. Then the medical officer felt his tanks churn with acid at the thought. 

Ratchet should have been more disturbed by the cold, calculated look Prowl would grace him with, and the fact that the Lamborghini twins had taken a special interest in hanging out in the med bay. But his attentions were centered on Bumblebee. Several times the young Autobot had tried to return to consciousness, only to have his pain receptors fire warning signals across his net that left him thrashing violently until Ratchet intervened. 

“Ratchet?” a deep baritone asked, startling the chartreuse medic. “Do you have a report?”

Ratchet rolled his shoulders, a little embarrassed by the fact Optimus just caught him sound asleep at his workstation. His optics turned to his leader, his friend, and the pain radiating from his optics spoke in volumes.

“His main processor is up to eighty percent,” Ratchet intoned, trying to clear the static of sleep from his vocalizer. “Core pressure and internal systems still drop unexpectedly, but the episodes are becoming less drastic and further apart. I’m about fifty percent done with constructing a new transformation cog, then I’ll get to work on a new vocalizer. After they’re installed, I’ll have to check for system shock and compatibility, creating new algorithms to assist in their assimilation.” He gave a small smile that didn’t quite reach his optics. “The injuries will heal with time. He still has a long recovery ahead…. But…”

Ratchet let the sentence trail off, unable to verbally announce what he and every other Autobot feared. Well, Ratchet secretly doubted Prowl felt any emotion at all, let alone share in the grief that plagued the sparks of the first arrivals. Ratchet had caught the tactician watching the other’s intently, no doubt his battle computer raising alarms about the emotional instability of the command element and possible actions to restore the normal balance. 

“He’s strong,” Prime said, looking at the battered car that sat like a pathetic lump on the exam table. Bumblebee’s injuries prevented his transformation, so he had to be carefully placed on the wider berth to accommodate his vehicular form. “He can recover.”

“Recover from the physical damage, yes,” Ratchet said, following his leader’s gaze and feeling a sinking sensation in his tank. “But the emotional damage is another matter. He has suffered so much. I don’t know if he can recover this time.”

“I know we have discussed this,” Prime started, but finding his courage fleeting at the upcoming conversation. “But Sam’s parents are demanding his body for burial.”

Ratchet sighed, a very human gesture he learned curtsey of Sam. “Bumblebee should be given the opportunity to say his good byes with the rest of us. He isn’t stable enough for me to bring him out of stasis to attend the funeral.”

“I know, old friend,” Prime said, suddenly feeling as if the entire world was balanced on his shoulders. Not only were Sam’s parents suffering from the loss and subsequent hiatus of the burial proceedings, his own team were feeling the loss as well. Though some weren’t as close to their human allies as others, they suffered with their comrades, empathizing with the loss held so near and dear to so many sparks. 

“But it has been two weeks already,” Prime muddled through, hoping to just curl up in a corner somewhere and off line in order to prevent the current conflict. “They wish to put their only child to rest, according to their beliefs. And though they understand Bumblebee was very attached to Sam, they can no longer withhold their grief. They wish to say their final farewells and find some closure.”

“But Bee isn’t stable enough to attend,” Ratchet repeated softly, weighing the options that were pressing down on him. He felt like purging. The same arguments rose up like boiling acid, renting fresh emotional wounds.

“I know,” Prime muttered. “I know you feel that he would want to be at the burial of his best friend, but that isn’t an option any more. Sam’s family and friends deserve closure. We can no longer deny them that. It’s time Sam be put to rest.”

“It’s…. just not… fair,” Ratchet said, wanting so badly to rouse Bee and give him a quick patch so he could attend his best friend’s funeral. But that wasn’t an option. Bumblebee’s circuits were still compromised and his frame still bore the marks of the crash. 

“Sam’s mother requested that we attend,” Optimus said, placing his hand on Ratchet’s arm. “His father on the other hand, wishes us to remain at a distance. And requested that after the services, we are never to approach them again.”

“Bee will want to talk to them,” Ratchet said, turning to look at his leader, giving him a pleading look. “You have to make them understand, it wasn’t his fault. They can’t shut him out after this. They are his only link to Sam. It will crush him.”

“Think about it from their point of view,” Prime said, trying to keep an even tone. The last thing he needed to do was to say something rash and cause further animosity between the two factions. “Their only child is dead and the one that swore to protect him still lives. They feel as if there was a betrayal, and though I know it wasn’t a deliberate act of sacrificing Sam for his own life, the Witwicky’s perceive Bumblebee’s existence as a testament to the loss of Sam. They feel as if Bumblebee’s life was at the cost of Sam’s.”

“But it wasn’t!” Ratchet snapped, enflamed for the injustice of it all. “Bumblebee nearly died in the crash! Surely they realize how his life still hangs in the balance! He may still be functioning, but after he learns of Sam’s fate, who knows what will happen! He may never recover.”

“I know that, and you know that,” Prime tried to assuage his irate medic before he decided to go and educate the elder Witwicky’s. “But think for a moment, Ratchet. They are still grieving for the loss of their child. They see everything as an act malicious intent toward their grief. They think everyone and everything is a mockery of life, and the terrible pain they have to endure. It’s the same pain you feel when you lose a patient.”

Ratchet instantly stilled, his face going from passionate anger to stunned submission.

“Of course. Their grief should not have to suffer because of our selfishness,” Ratchet said lowly. His optics strayed to his patient, who was blessed by deep slumber, unaware of the tragedy happening in the living world. “I ask that everyone record the proceedings so Bumblebee may have the opportunity to witness his friend being laid to rest. Perhaps it will help ease his spark and give him some solace.”

“It will be done,” Prime said softly, gazing at the yellow Camaro who would undoubtedly need time to mourn for his friend when the appropriate time came. 

Bumblebee had endured much in his relatively short life. He was trained since an early age, fought in vicious battles, and witnessed atrocities that still plagued his rest. The first life he’d taken. The first time he tore an enemy spark from its housing. The first time he gazed into another’s optics and watch as the light dimmed into darkness. The iciness left behind when the spark fled the mortal world. All things the young scout had endured and persevered, learning how to compartmentalize the emotion and actions. 

Kill or be killed. 

Destroy or watch as your world or friends are destroyed. 

Defend or surrender. 

Attack or retreat.

Action and reaction.

There really wasn’t a choice. Bumblebee wanted to live, and if that meant he had to do some rather disturbing things to ensure his and his friends survival, then he would endure. It may haunt his dreams and cause elusive recharge, but there would be someone there to always help him through it. Someone who knew and understood. Someone who cared and would fight just as vehemently for him. Someone who knew him, and would sacrifice everything, just for the sake of their friend. Bumblebee would do the same. Always. No questions or hesitation.

But here, on Earth, was a chance for the young warrior to find some solace. His spark could find the peace that was denied since the beginning. Another soul with which to learn and persevere, enjoy youthful times that were nearly forgotten, and to heal the wounds left behind by a war that was not their own. 

“Sam was a very brave human,” Ratchet interjected, his gaze focused on Bumblebee’s dented hood. “He will be greatly missed.”

Prime offered a slow nod, adding, “Major Lennox has spoken to Sam’s parents and assured them the government will cover all costs.”

“Any word on the other driver?” Ratchet asked, ashamed of himself for not querying earlier.

“Prowl has established some relations to local law enforcement,” Prime said, wanting so badly to ease the torment surrounding him. He hated to see his friends in pain. Suffering was the one burden he never acclimated to as Prime. “The humans are performing a thorough investigation, and have promised to share their information.”

“Let’s hope they have their answers by the time Bee wakes up,” Ratchet muttered, checking the readouts and finding a stable, soothing rhythm from Bumblebee. 

“We will help him through this,” Prime said unnecessarily, his fist clenching at his side. He could only imagine the suffering Bumblebee was going to endure over the course of his rehabilitation. 

“The only question is, will we be enough?” Ratchet said, his tender gaze resting on the battered form of his patient.


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

 

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Most of the Autobots, minus Ratchet and Bumblebee, joined their human allies at a local funeral house. Many of the humans attending glanced at the odd assortment of vehicles parked in the side parking lot, but grief soon clouded their eyes to their surroundings. Mikaela offered a weak smile to the gathered Autobots but bowed her head and disappeared inside the building. 

Though Sam wasn’t on any active military duty roster, Major Lennox insisted the young boy get a full accompaniment service. Those who had known and fought by Sam’s side were arranged column style to the main room, where uniformed servicemen stood sentry.  
Major Lennox and Sergeant Epps had stationed themselves near the coffin, standing at perfect attention, though their eyes remained misted in grief. 

Ron and Judy balked at first when they were informed of the pseudo-military style funeral, but when the Major had given an impassioned speech about Sam’s dedication and loyalty, his heroism and compassion, the two elder Witwicky’s relented, and now faced the pristine wintry tomb that held their only child. The casket was the highest quality available, lined with a soft baby blue satin that matched the light blue shirt Sam wore under his navy suit. The funeral director had requested the best person available to prepare the young man for viewing, and after many painstaking hours, Sam now lay peacefully inside his cloud-like cocoon. The severe trauma to his head had been concealed, the natural hue of death tinged and blended into an almost flawless sheen. Sam resembled a slumbering cherub, carved from porcelain. 

Major Lennox adjusted his uniform, finding Judy’s sobs to be reaching down into his soul and yanking it out with razor sharp intensity. He could only just imagine what would happen if he lost his little girl. The horror and sadness. The restless spirit and grievous, yawning vortex that spiraled into that blank nothingness of cruel reality. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered under his breath, staring at the grieving parents. He stepped away from his post for a moment, ducking behind a curtain and grabbed a handful of the tissues offered on a pedestal. Will Lennox had allowed a brief moment of silence on the base to honor the young life taken, and had refused to allow his emotions to get the better of him. Unfortunately, having to witness a parents’ most vulnerable and excruciating moment, and being reminded that he was a parent, it all came crashing down with hammer-like blows. He cried, hard, muffling his sobs with wads of tissue.

A noise drew his attention to the gap in the curtains, and a figure emerged, dressed in identical military style. Sergeant Epps didn’t bother hiding the tears sliding silently down his cheek. He grabbed a tissue and joined his commanding officer in grieving for a young soul taken too soon and so violently from his friends and family. 

It took several moments for the officers to regain their composure. Without missing a beat, they returned to their previous posts, making great efforts to avoid looking at the suffering parents for fear of losing themselves again. When the room was full, a large man stood at a podium and began to address the assemblage. Taking the cue, Lennox activated the hidden camera on his uniform, capturing the proceedings so they may be witnessed by the secluded ones in the cold parking lot. 

The Autobots watched curiously as the man at the podium conducted the service with heartfelt sympathy and respect, both to the grieving and to the one who laid silently in eternal slumber. He called for everyone to bow their heads, and plead to whatever deity resides in the heavens, that Sam find a place of comfort and peace. When his supplication was over he gave the order for the casket to be closed and waited while the aggrieved filed out. 

Will halted the ushers and motioned for his men to approach. As a single unit they bent down, grasping the ivory handles and carefully carried the casket outside, where it was placed inside a black hearse. Will gave one final buff of the pristine metal, before giving a jerky nod of farewell and stepping back, his tears falling unchecked on his uniform. 

The normally stoic military personnel all sported red rimmed eyes and damp collars, though they held their heads high and proceeded to the parking lot to begin the formal parade that would lead Sam to his final resting place. Everyone watched curiously as the soldiers filed past, but no one spoke of their emotional display. Most of the mourners knew the soldiers had loved ones of their own, and had probably attended far too many of these type of services. A small part of the congregation felt their hearts clench, realizing the anguish that each soldier had silently bore, but always performed to perfection, showing a professionalism that was unparalleled. True heroes, honoring one that may not have been officially enlisted, but nonetheless had fought valiantly by their side. 

Just as the Major approached a flamed semi, which earned more than a couple of raised brows, there was an angry shout. Everyone turned to find the source of the commotion and to admonish them for disrupting such a sacred moment, but everyone held their tongues as Ron Witwicky approached the parking lot. Judy waited at the entrance to the funeral home, torn between following her husband and seeking solace in the back of the awaiting limousine. 

“It’s your fault, do you hear me?!” Ron shouted, storming toward Major Lennox. “He’s dead because of you!”

Lennox raised his hands in a placating manner, but the enraged Witwicky continued to advance. 

“It was an accident that took Sam from you,” he said, trying to calm the patriarch down.

“No it wasn’t!” Ron yelled, stopping just short of Major Lennox. The mourners rustled nervously, clearly wanting to stop any altercation, but hesitant to stand between a father and the object of his wrath. “He’s gone because you guys failed!”

Lennox flinched, knowing Ron wasn’t talking to him, but to the grill behind him. 

“He’s dead and your guy still lives!” Ron fumed, stepping around the Major and advancing on the semi. Several of the mourners exchanged looks, wondering if the grief had caused the man to become unhinged. “It’s all your fault! You and your stupid war! Getting Sam caught up in something that he had no right being involved in! He’s just a boy! He had no right to be in the middle of your fight! You had no right taking him from me.”

“Mr. Witwicky, please understand,” Prime started, but Ron was past caring. He didn’t want to hear any more empty words. His son was gone, and nothing could fill the emptiness that settled in his soul.

“There’s nothing to understand,” Ron spat, his face inches from the black wreath displayed on the pristine grill. “He got involved with your war, felt like he owed you something, and allowed himself to be guarded by a stranger that apparently didn’t care enough for his life and allowed Sam to die!”

The last word caused Ron to choke. His hand clenched and unclenched at his side as tears poured fresh from his eyes. His voice became hoarse and raw. “You took my son away from me and for that, I hope every one of you drop dead.”

“Ron!” Judy gasped, having just gained her husband’s side. Her hands were over her mouth as she stared agape. “Don’t say that!”

“Why not?” Ron snapped, his voice a little stronger in his anger. “It’s only fitting. They killed Sam. Shouldn’t they pay for that?”

“The Autobots didn’t kill Sam,” Judy said, grabbing her husband’s arm and trying to pull him away from the veiled grill. She knew that there was no way Ron could inflict any damage on the Autobot leader, but she felt it was necessary to put as much distance as possible between the two. “Bumblebee almost died as well! It’s not like he ran over Sam to protect himself.”

Ron whirled on his wife, his face blotchy from anger and grief. “You’re siding with them? They killed our son!”

Will was at Judy’s side in an instant, though a part of him doubted the elder Witwicky would resort to violence against his spouse. Then again, grief made one do crazy things.

“They didn’t take Sam from us,” Judy reiterated, giving her husband a pleading look. “The Autobots were Sam’s friends. He loved them, and they loved him. Don’t blame them for what happened.”

Ron seemed to deflate at his wife’s words. He let out a whimper, his body trembling as he tried to contain his grief. 

“Come, let’s go say good bye to our son,” Judy said, sounding stronger than what she felt. She wrapped her arms around Ron and escorted him to the limo. The other mourners followed suit, their spell broken. 

Lennox climbed into the Autobot leader’s cab, feeling as if the world was gong to spin so fast he’d fly off of it. He grabbed the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.

“Major?” Prime’s deep baritone rumbled in the cab. 

Will jerked his head at the sound and centered his attention on the radio. “Yeah?”

“You are in no condition to drive,” Prime said, feeling the man’s body shaking so hard, his seats were vibrating. 

Lennox released the wheel, flexing his fingers, trying to regain sensation. “Doesn’t seem fair, does it?” 

“I have learned that nothing is fair,” Prime said, starting his engine and pulling in behind the procession. “There is nothing more tragic than losing a young life.” ‘

The ride to the cemetery was silent. The long parade of mourners collected quite a few curious stares from other drivers, especially when the end of the procession included a flamed semi, a silver Solstice, a pair of red and yellow Lamborghinis, a black Topkick, and a navy police Charger, all adorned with a black wreath. 

The Lambo twins had originally refused to attend the service, having never met the human boy that had ended the war, but upon hearing of his deeds and realizing the closeness he shared with the First Arrivals, Sideswipe had volunteered himself and his brother to act on Ratchet and Bumblebee’s behalf. Sunstreaker wasn’t thrilled about the situation and only relented after he beat Sideswipe’s tailpipes. The red Lamborghini still had a habit of drifting to the left. Sideswipe knew Ratchet could repair him in no time, but with the medic currently stationed at Bee’s side, he didn’t want to bother the CMO with something as trivial as a realignment, not while Bumblebee still fought for his life. 

The cars filled the cemetery lot, Ron and Judy going to the graveside, where Sam’s casket was already displayed, nestled among the many patterned flowers. The Autobots settled low, watching the proceedings and finding it very difficult to concentrate on the full ritual being performed, as Judy seemed to lose all her strength and openly wailed in grief. A soft snuffling noise issued from under Jazz’s hood and Ironhide gave a deep rumbling cough, but no one dared say a word. Their sparks were too heavy, their own grief all consuming. Even Sunstreaker remained quiet and never offered a retort to those who allowed small noises of anguish to escape. He too mourned, though for other reasons not associated to a small organic he had never met. 

With a final prayer the mourners placed their flowers on the casket and took their leave. Major Lennox waited until the last minute and barked out the order in true, dignified, military style. As a seamless unit his men carefully removed the black wreaths from the Autobots and marched single file to the gravesite. One by one they placed the rings on the pristine ivory. When the last man stepped back, they stood statuesque and offered a sharp salute. 

Ron and Judy were the last to leave, waving their friends and family onward to their home where they would gather and reminisce. When they saw the salute, Judy felt herself smile, despite the tears and the shaking of her hands. Ron felt himself choke back a sob and watched as the Army Rangers filed away, their heads bowed.

Finding some strange courage well up from some unknown source, Ron motioned for Major Lennox to approach. Truth be told, the elder Witwicky didn’t think he could stand being in close proximity to the Autobots again, and didn’t wish for them to overhear, unknowing that the Major wore a transmitter that broadcasted every detail.

“Mr. and Mrs. Witwicky, please accept my heartfelt sympathy for your loss,” Will recited. The words seemed hollow compared to what the grieving parents were going through, but he wanted to express how truly sorry he was for what happened. 

Ron’s bottom lip quivered as he stared at the soldier, an internal war raging inside of him. After several attempts at speaking he managed a raspy grunt to clear his throat. Something inside seemed to break.

“No sacrifice, no victory,” Ron said, his voice breaking like a teenager’s. “I said that to him.” Ron clutched at his chest as his hand shook violently. “I told him there was no victory without sacrifice. Family motto! Had to live up to the expectations, didn’t we? Be a man and be willing to sacrifice it all! No matter what!” He took a ragged breath, his hand still grasping at the unseen pain wrenching his heart. His voice dropped to a whisper as he added, “ How could I say such a thing? Who would say that to their child? What kind of monster am I?”

With a pained keen Ron succumbed to his heartache, rocking unsteadily on his feet before a pair of arms wrapped around him and held him in a tight embrace. He dug his fingers into the dark blue uniform, the only thing keeping him grounded and holding him in safety as the inner demons took their fill.

Will didn’t care if his uniform was being ruined, or that a few people openly stared. It didn’t matter that the scene could be misrepresented by passersby, or that the Major’s unit was standing next to their Autobot escorts a few yards away. All that mattered was the broken man using him as an anchor, hoping his strength would be enough to keep him from being consumed by the ache gnawing away at his heart. 

A place where a child used to reside. A place that was raw and bleeding and full of despair. Will bowed his head and allowed his tears to flow with the grieving father, his own heart clenching in fear that this incident could happen to his sweet little Annabelle. Her life was just as fragile and precious as Sam’s. They were mere children. And their loss was something that was unthinkable.

The Autobots ended their transmissions, not wanting to intrude on such a vulnerable moment. 

Across town, Ratchet cut his connection, his optics focused on the wreckage of another devastated young soul. Ratchet kneeled beside of Bumblebee’s form, and with all the pain a spark could muster, he voiced his sorrow in the universal language of pain and loss.

He wept.


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

 

0000-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-OOOOOOOOOO-IIII-OOO-III-OOOO-IIII-OOOOOO

Bumblebee’s processor didn’t allow him to fully reboot to give him a display of the damage sustained and a possible time for rehabilitation. He was only allowed limited consciousness, like being in a waking dream, though no cognizant form of environment. The only time he had a glimpse of the damage was from the level of concern Ratchet showed each time they connected.

Each rise to partial wakefulness was greeted by string of codes, Ratchet easily sorting through them and running his diagnostics, though Bumblebee couldn’t understand the long, red lines of text that scrolled across his mind like a tartan pattern. Pain receptors were turned off, Thank Primus. But the dermal sensors and Bumblebee’s sensors were turned off as well, rendering him devoid of sensation.

But Bumblebee was glad that Ratchet had removed his pain receptors. If the spare glances he stole were any indication, he was badly damaged and if he could feel his body, he would probably end up screaming himself into stasis lock or termination. 

Ratchet opened system files and brought Bumblebee back into his waking dreamlike state, though he didn’t allow the majority of the system files to open and begin their system checks. Bumblebee was still too compromised to allow such mental release. So Ratchet kept the youngest entertained by sending his young mind soaring through the heavens, keeping him in a happy place.

Bumblebee felt himself fly into the clouds, a wonderful sensation pulling him upwards and allowing him to drift free and easy. He felt Ratchet’s mind brush against his own in a soothing way, making him want to sigh in contentment. 

This was a nice feeling. One he wouldn’t mind keeping for awhile. 

He had seen so much. Pain, loss, devastation, suffering. It all became so heavy to one who had to bear the burden of witnessing such things. The other Autobots had tried to help the youngster with his troubled processor, but it never seemed enough. Sure they stayed up with him through the long hours of recharge and the endless memory loops that left him crying for those lost to Megatron’s thirst for power. But their condolences were never enough. They too carried the atrocities of war upon their helms. It was hard to offer comfort when your own processor was consumed by grief and uncertainty. 

Bumblebee felt those things as well. He admitted he never saw the war in such graphic detail as Prime and Ironhide, their vehemence that he stay on the peripheral of the war kept him safe from most things. But during war, nothing is for certain. Bee had witnessed the slaying of countless lives, some never growing into their adult frames. 

With the darkness of the past he felt himself sink in the inky steam below his soft billowing of playful clouds.

Ratchet’s presence enveloped the listless scout’s processor, pulling it back up toward the stratosphere. Bumblebee felt relief at the impression of floating upward, away from the darkness that shimmered below. He felt gratitude to Ratchet for steering him away from his dark thoughts.

Here, in the upper atmosphere, he could look down on the world and view it in all its glory. He smiled to himself, imaging the Earth below him, rotating on its slow axis, its top and bottom crowned with ice and diamonds. The sapphire blue sea and emerald lakes, all scattering over a horizon that stretched unto forever. 

Bumblebee liked Earth. Here, the air was clean and clear. At least it was clearer than Cybertron’s acidic and choking atmosphere. Cybertron’s atmosphere was dense and suffocating, the congestion much more than Earth’s heaviest smog.

Bee swam through the cool air on the gentle breeze of Ratchet’s presence, allowing the medic to guide his journey. He didn’t want to think of the past. He wanted to stay in this wonderful world where he could fly and play among the stars.

Cybertron was gone. There was nothing left of his home world. It would never breathe again. Unlike Earth. Earth was full of life, in the oceans, in the air, and on its lands. Earth was alive in every sensory perception available to a Cybertronian.

And the humans….Bumblebee especially liked the human population, finding their artistic endeavors to be awe-inspiring. Their music was highly addictive and their cinema was spark-pounding, emotional genius. The diversity and complexity of their interactions, constant need for knowledge and striving for seemingly impossible heights, their compassion and conviction…

Oh yes, Bumblebee was a big fan of humans. 

Especially one in particular. 

Many a night Sam spent sitting in Bumblebee, the radio playing in the background, the two conversing. Well, Sam speaking and Bee playing sound bytes in response. It was difficult to communicate when one’s vocalizer was destroyed and your companion didn’t possess an internal radio frequency. But like all handicaps, it could be overcome.

Humans had filled the world with their words and images, allowing a mute orphan a chance to communicate with someone they considered their kin. Such clever creatures these human beings.

Bumblebee focused his thoughts on Sam, hearing his voice, feeling the warmth of his body in the seat, the affectionate pats to the hood that tickled the Camaro. He felt like a giant yellow puppy sometimes. 

A strange burning in his processor halted Bumblebee’s train of thought. He felt the sensation run along his neural net. It morphed from burning into painful twinges, the source unknown as Bumblebee’s systems were still offline during his rehabilitation. He felt Ratchet’s immediate steadfast presence, pressing hard against his psyche as if stanching the flow of lifeblood from a gushing wound. He allowed the medic free reign, hoping to direct Ratchet to the source of the problem so he could fix it and make the pain go away. 

Ratchet could fix anything. He was notorious for it. 

But Ratchet wasn’t trying to find the source of the ache. If anything, he was trying to direct Bumblebee’s thoughts towards other places, away from humans, away from Sam. 

Why would Ratchet do that?

Bumblebee withdrew from Ratchet, inwardly frowning as he tried to ascertain the cause of his ache. If Ratchet wasn’t running diagnostics to find the source, then it was up to Bumblebee to ascertain the injury and try to relay it to his savoir.

The pain wasn’t coming from his sensor grid, Ratchet’s skills at having the receptors offlined during recovery having seen to that. And after a quick mental evaluation, he surmised it wasn’t from his processor either. Though he couldn’t be too sure, seeing how his internal systems were down and he was not in a cognizant form of control. He pushed back against Ratchet’s mind, hoping to convey his inquiry, but was met with a gentle, soothing sensation, like a gentle brush a parent would give to an ailing child to ease their suffering. He felt his consciousness lift toward the clouds once again, but the inky darkness below was demanding, rising and trying to keep the dark thoughts of its owner within its grasp.

Perhaps that was the source of the dull ache?

The pain flared again. Bee focused on the source, finding his spark to be sending out pangs of distress. He tried to center on the problem, but Ratchet’s mind firmly wrapped around his consciousness and pulled him away. Thinking the medic was trying to protect him, Bee relinquished, allowing the medic to return to him to the lofty position in the heavens, and away from the burning pain in his darkened spark.

It was so frustrating. Ratchet should have been running diagnostics and trying to find out the cause of the phantom pains Bumblebee was experiencing. He sent another inquiring ping through the link he shared with the medic. Ratchet sent the gentle brush of encouragement, gentle and loving like a dotting parent. 

Bumblebee inwardly sighed, knowing all the Autobots saw him as the tiny little spark that escaped from the All Spark all those years ago before the ancient artifact went dormant. He was the youngest by a great many lifetimes, though he had his fair share of war and death, destruction and loss. He just wished they would stop trying to coddle him with their blanketing affections. He was an adult, at least by Cybertronian standards, but yet, everyone treated him like a youngling that needed the constant adult support to keep from falling apart. Bee mentally sighed, knowing that Sam endured the same problem with his parents. 

Sam turned eighteen and was considered a legal adult yet his parents set him curfews, threatened to ground him, and revoked some of his basic rights to punish him for juvenile transgressions. Why was it so hard to grow up when everyone wanted to keep treating you like a child? It was very frustrating. Many conversations drifted into the realm of parental suffocation and maturing youngsters, Bumblebee finding Sam to be subjected to adult whims as himself. Though they were worlds apart, they had a lot in common.

Ratchet redirected Bumblebee’s mind back into the heavens, filling his mental landscape with bursts of colorful nebulas and ever-changing skies that drew his attention away from his musings. Bumblebee enjoyed these waking dreams, allowing his ground based form to become celestial, gliding among the stars. 

Bumblebee drifted in out and of consciousness, feeling as if his body was made of air. It was a pleasant feeling and though he enjoyed the sensation, he felt scared to be alone. Something wasn’t right. Something was…. missing. He couldn’t quite place it though. Every time his processor tried to center on the void, his spark would ache in such a way it left him dizzy and disoriented, Ratchet’s firm hold on his mind the only thing keeping him centered in the chaotic miasma of boiling darkness, before Ratchet’s expert manipulation sent him hurtling into the skies once again.

The sensation of being adrift in solitary silence would normally have sent him into a panic, not enjoying the solitude like some bots. Bumblebee was a social person. He needed companionship. All those months in space had nearly ended him. The isolation and vague sense of aimless dreaming and disjointed thoughts that liked to garble your senses and make you confused and scared. But Bumblebee was no longer alone. 

Yes, the Autobots had answered his call and followed his signal. He also had Sam and to some degree, Sam’s girlfriend Mikaela. Though Bumblebee had only just met Miles, he had a sense of companionship with the flighty human as well. 

Bumblebee wasn’t alone. 

Ratchet was there as well, a constant presence in his mind. The dull throbbing ache had receded when Ratchet hooked their systems together, using his medical overrides to graft his processor with Bee’s and give the youngster companionship. Though words couldn’t be exchanged, feelings and emotions could. Bumblebee registered pain and confusion. Ratchet would answer by broadcasting reassurance and peace. The sensation was underlying with grief, and though Bumblebee couldn’t ask flat out about the melancholy on the medics processor, he could inquiry to the state of emotion by brushing a quizzical sadness along their connection. 

 

Ratchet recoiled, not wanting to send his grief into Bumblebee, but the little scout was very perceptive. 

Ratchet filled their link with happiness and contentment, letting the young scout know that he was under Ratchet’s watchful care. 

Bumblebee wanted to return to full consciousness. Though he loved the sensation of flying through warm billowy clouds, he craved the open road and the feel of asphalt beneath his tires. He loved the air whistling through his grill and Sam’s hoots of encouragement as they enjoyed the freedom of the open road. 

At the thought of Sam, Bumblebee felt Ratchet’s sorrow filter through. He mentally frowned, wondering why Ratchet would feel sorry for Sam. But then again, Judy was very strict and Sam had probably gotten into trouble again and getting grounded was enough to earn anyone’s sympathy. Bumblebee passed it off, feeling Ratchet’s presence soothe his mind and nudge him back toward his blissful dreamlike state. Bumblebee relaxed into the peace and gentle presence surrounding him, his mind drifting into a deep sleep as Ratchet withdrew their connection. 

 

Ratchet sat back on his chair, staring at Bumblebee’s form still on the berth. His frame was still bent and twisted, though Bee’s self repair systems were removing the majority of the dings, dents, and tears that had littered his body from the crash. Ratchet sighed, looking at the pile of replacement parts and to the damaged Camaro, feeling as if his struts were made of Cybertron’s heaviest alloys. He had recharged by Bee’s side, his processors in constant communication via a hardline connection that Ratchet had installed. Now, rested and sure that Bumblebee was in deep stasis, Ratchet rose, feeling his joints creak and set to work, building the body that housed a mournful spark. 

Bumblebee’s body would be repaired, giving him back his function to a point, but whether or not his spirit could heal; only time would tell. Ratchet could feel the confusion and pain in the young scouts mind, but the damage to his body must have wiped his memories. The trauma was so severe, Bumblebee had retreated into his own mind to be safe, protecting it from the harshness of reality. The safety parameters surrounding his mental block would remain in place until his subconscious deemed him stable enough to fully comprehend the series of events that lead to his rehabilitation. 

And then, Ratchet’s work would truly begin.


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

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At Ratchet’s request, several of the Autobots would connect via a hard line connection, exchanged gentle brushes of their mind, letting Bee know he wasn’t alone. He was still part of the team and they wished him a speedy recovery. Though they couldn’t voice such direct thoughts, they could send the emotional message loud and clear. Bumblebee responded each time with genuine affection toward his teammates. He was shocked when he felt Sideswipe’s first whispers across his cortex, followed by Sunstreaker’s mind as Sideswipe connected to the downed scout. And though words couldn’t be exchanged, Bumblebee felt overwhelmed by the dual presence in his processor. It was reminiscent of all the parties Sideswipe was notorious for throwing. Chaos, booming noises, and genuine jovial antics flooded the young bot until Sideswipe offered a parting surge of affection before disconnecting. 

When Sideswipe returned his hardline connection, he turned guilty optics to Ratchet, who stood fuming beside of him. Sideswipe offered a half grin before taking off like lightening, his reflexes faster than Ratchet’s. He knew Ratchet didn’t want Bumblebee to be overwhelmed, and with the twin connection shared by the troublesome duo, Bumblebee just experienced a party in his head. 

That type of environment wasn’t good for a healing processor. 

Ratchet settled into his usual seat beside of Bumblebee, connected to his main transfer port and kept the youngster occupied while he administered another round of repairs. Bumblebee’s systems were at seventy-eight percent. Another day or two and he would be allowed to return to full consciousness, though his physical movements would be limited. But it would be good to be awake and surrounded by those he considered friends and family. And Bumblebee was ecstatic to learn that eleven new Autobots now resided on base. 

The last three had arrived the day before, though Ratchet kept the darker news to himself and let the youngster rejoice in the idea of the growing Autobot ranks. The latest arrivals had brought word that Cybertron had been purged by Shockwave. The vile Decepticon sent his drones into the bowels of the planet and destroyed everything in their path. The planet was now a husk, withered and decaying in the heavens, its life spent by its inhabitants. 

But Bumblebee didn’t need to know that. 

Ratchet had insisted that Bumblebee remain in stasis until he was absolutely sure the young mech’s systems could handle the reboot without a cascade failure. The extra time was just enough to allow Bee’s systems to register eighty-eight percent, a satisfactory level to allow a bot consciousness and limited mobility. As Bumblebee charged in deep stasis one last time, Ratchet installed his new transformation cog, and by slow manual manipulation, transformed the Camaro into a seventeen foot tall Cybertronian.

As to not overwhelm the yellow scout, Ratchet had insisted only Prime and Ironhide be present when Bumblebee regained consciousness. His systems were showing a rapid acceleration, thanks to Ratchet’s intervention of reprogramming his repair nanites to work on one system at a time. While the natural healing aspects of the Cybertronian body were being affected, Ratchet had removed damaged panels and circuits, replacing them with new components, some of them borrowed. As the nanites moved between injuries, when they passed a new, intact circuit, they passed by, focusing their attention on the more extensive damage. 

Bumblebee wasn’t sure how long he was in deep sleep, but as he drew to consciousness, a part of him wondered what happened to Ratchet and would he figure out the meaning behind the darkness that threatened to drag him under. He waited, expecting to feel Ratchet’s ever present connection, but to his astonishment, his internal displays flared to life. 

Base codes scrolled then faded into nonexistence as operating systems came online. With a jolt, Bumblebee felt his body. Every inch, every hose, circuit, and even the small shifting of air across his sensors. He opened his optics to stare into the dormant overhead light Ratchet used during surgery. Not sure what to think, he emitted a feeble chirp, sounding so much like the sparkling he resembled when the Autobots first found him all those eons ago. 

Ratchet came into view, his normally caustic demeanor replaced with a relieved, yet weary, look.

“Take your time,” Ratchet said, placing a hand on Bumblebee’s shoulder. “You’ve been in deep stasis. It’s going to take your body some time to adjust.”

Bee gave a happy chirp, earning a smile from the grouchy medic. He flexed his body, feeling the tautness to his frame that came with lack of activity and new parts. He ran a systems check and found that his body was at ninety-two percent operational function.

“Go slow,” Ratchet warned. “You’re body is still adjusting to your repairs and some parts are slow to integrate.”

Bumblebee looked past Ratchet and noted the tall form of Optimus Prime standing several feet away. Bumblebee let out a chirp of recognition. He repeated the noise when he saw Ironhide standing beside of Prime, his hands on his hips and a smile on his normally stoic features.

“Hey kid, go easy,” Ironhide said.

In slow motion, Bumblebee planted his hands on the medical berth and started to lift himself up. Ratchet let out a harsh noise but didn’t prevent the motion. A grinding creak came from Bee’s lower back, a hydraulic hissed in warning from his shoulder, and his knee gave an Ironhide-like pop. It took a moment, and Ratchet’s assistance, but Bumblebee was able to sit upright. It felt good to be off his back and if the kinks in his body were indication, he needed the exercise. 

When he was settled, Bumblebee looked around the room, searching for something, or someone in particular. When he realized they were alone, he sent an inquiring ping, asking Sam’s location. Ironhide looked away. Ratchet’s optics darkened and lowered to the floor. Prime’s shoulders sagged then hitched square, as if the fearless leader was bracing himself for an epic battle. 

Bumblebee thought their actions were odd. He glanced to Ratchet and noted he still gazed at the floor. With a dawning beep, Bumblebee gave a nod of understanding.

Sam was grounded. That’s why Ratchet was looking to the floor. That’s why Sam wasn’t there when Bumblebee woke up. He combed his memory, trying to remember what had happened to cause Sam such parental reprimand. Certainly it wasn’t anything to do with his guardian. 

Bumblebee frowned, trying to remember what had happened, but finding only a black void in his memory cache. But it couldn’t be something that Bumblebee had been responsible for. He had taken Judy’s stern lecture to spark. He knew better than to cross a mother, especially one who liked to wield a baseball bat. 

Bumblebee would never do anything to cause Judy to worry or reprimand him for a transgression. With such thoughts running through his mind, Bumblebee remembered something that had cause Sam a lot of emotional stress and strain the close bond he shared with his parents.

Homework. 

The assignments the boy took home caused more grief than an errant sparkling with compromised firewalls.

Prime stepped forward. Ratchet stiffened and turned to the flamed semi, the two sharing a look as they had some unspoken conversation. Whatever was under debate, Ratchet growled in submission, his face contorted in anger. He crossed his arms over his chassis and turned toward Bumblebee, though his gaze remained transfixed on the berth.

“Bumblebee, there is something you should know,” Prime said in a gentle, soothing voice. 

Bumblebee offered a chirp of understanding. How many times had he heard that voice? How many times had it comforted him during tormented hours of charge? How many times had that voice given bad news? How could one voice be so commanding yet so gentle and comforting? 

“Ratchet doesn’t agree with my decision,” Prime started and his voice took on a hard edge that garnered instant attention and respect. “But I believe that not telling you would be a worse injustice. You are an adult and though it is painful, it is necessary to come to terms and find closure.”

Bumblebee frowned. What did Optimus mean, ‘find closure’? To what? School? Sam still had a few months left of his mandatory educational sentence. Then he was going to head to college and both Witwicky parents made it abundantly clear their only child was not only going to attend, but be the first to graduate with a degree. 

Optimus felt his spark break, looking into the young, naïve optics of his youngest warrior. Bumblebee may be considered an adult by all standards, but he would still be that carefree, innocent little mechling who terrorized the base with his adolescent pranks. 

Every time the heroic leader made to speak, his voice died in his vocalizer, finding it hard to speak the words that would cause Bumblebee untold spark ache. Prime fought against himself, his will to be forthcoming clashing against his pseudo-creator programming as he looked into the unsuspecting optics.

After a couple of failed attempts at speaking the words that would send Bumblebee’s spark into chaos, Prime lowered his helm and exhaled a heavy gust. He felt Ironhide draw near, the scarred hand touching the flamed leader’s back and offering silent support. It was so difficult. Why did it have to be so hard to say those few words? The words that would make everything a reality and cause Bumblebee’s fragile spark to crash around him. 

“You were in an accident about five weeks ago,” Ironhide said, taking over for his long time friend. “It nearly ended your life.”

Bumblebee gave a feeble beep, understanding why his body was so compromised and due to the extensive repairs that had been done to his frame, he now knew the reason behind his deep hibernating sleep.

Ironhide’s hand pressed against Prime’s back, drawing strength from the large frame and steeling himself for the final words. The words that would forever be etched in Bumblebee’s processor. Ironhide exhaled slow, glad to take the brunt of the burden and suffer Bumblebee’s spark wrenching hateful glowers as he succumbed to his grief. 

“The impact caused fatal damage in Sam,” Ironhide said, saying the words that refused to be spoken by any other. “He terminated before the humans could mount a rescue.”

Bumblebee sat, staring at Ironhide in a confused way. His helm canted to one side, so much like when he was a youngling. He gave a confused noise, his expression imploring of his trigger happy caretaker. 

Ironhide held the scout’s gaze before dropping his optics to the floor in grief. He earned a sympathetic brush against his EM field from Prime, who found his vocalizer. 

“Sam was buried a few weeks ago and at his father’s request, we have retreated from their lives,” Prime said, feeling his resolve crumbling at the tragic look on Bumblebee’s face. 

Bee turned to Ratchet, seeing the hard line of his lip components and cold stare at nothingness. Prime met Bumblebee’s gaze, but lowered his helm in sadness. Ironhide was too busy staring a hole through the floor. Their tense frames. Their solemn features.

And like an exploding volcano is all came flooding back.

The crash. The SUV. Sam bleeding. Bumblebee silent and helpless. The pain. Sam’s blood. His body aching, consciousness threatening to slip away. Sam’s cry for forgiveness. The darkness. Sam’s voice as he cried out in anguish. The cold searing torment as his body was racked by electrical energy that burned his circuits like fire. Sam’s last pulse of life. 

 

Bumblebee sagged, his optics going distant. He felt cold, empty. He now recognized what the void in his spark represented. It was the place Sam had once inhabited. The awkward, gawky teen organic had settled into Bee’s spark just as easily as he slipped into Bee’s interior. His warm human body was now as cold and lifeless as Bee felt. A low whine issued from the yellow chassis, his head shaking a slow negative, but the affirmation was in his spark. Unbidden, Bee’s memory files opened, playing the last moments of Sam’s life in a sputtering clip like a badly filmed movie. Bee grabbed his helm, his optics pooling in sorrow. 

“When you are ready, you may view the recording of Sam’s burial,” Prime said, giving Bee’s arm a gentle squeeze. “It will afford you to find closure and allow your spark to heal.”

Bumblebee looked away, feeling as if his spark casing was filled with iced water. A part of him wanted to see the ritual Sam’s parents had chose to send their only child to his rest, but another part of Bee couldn’t fathom the rite of passage. He wanted closure, but watching as his best friend and confidant was lowered into the unforgiving Earth was too much. That wasn’t closure. That was putting the visual aid out of sight to allow the spark and processor to forget the life that was lost. 

Bumblebee couldn’t do that. He couldn’t forget Sam. He couldn’t cast him aside like forgotten waste, finding peace in eternal slumber. 

The icy fingers of loneliness slipped into Bee spark, until it had his life force held in its deathly grip. He couldn’t escape. 

There was nothing to stave the chill that settled when one lost a friend, a comrade, a brother. A high pitched whine filled the small makeshift med bay. Without thought Prime pulled the small scout against him, his spark thrumming in pain with the youngster. Ratchet leaned against the two as well, offering what little comfort he could. Ironhide gave Prime a look, and with heavy pedes he exited the room unable to bear witness to the pain and suffering. He knew Bumblebee would blame him. After all, he was the one who just devastated the youngster’s spark. 

It was a burden he was willing to take. 

But Primus, if it didn’t take all of Ironhide’s resolve to bear such accusatory grief.


	10. Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

 

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Ironhide steeled himself and opened the door, finding Bumblebee sitting on the edge of his charging berth. His optics were distant, haunted. His shoulders were slouched, his frame creaking as the repairs protested his strutless frame. 

“Hey kid,” Ironhide said, feeling a sense of dread.

Bumblebee looked up and Ironhide staggered back from the emotion echoed in the blue optics of the youngling he helped raise. 

The hurt, the anger, the accusation, the sense of betrayal was all captured in the small, distant twinkle of light that was Bumblebee’s optics. 

Ironhide didn’t know what to say. He was a warrior, not a creator. He had helped to mentor Bumblebee when he was younger, but nothing like this had ever struck so close to home. 

Yes, Bumblebee had witnessed atrocities committed by Megatron and those under his command. Those images still burned into his processor and disturbed his charge like taunting shadows. But those had been strangers. Mechs and femmes just like Bumblebee and his adoptive family, but they had been strangers. People he didn’t know and had no attachment toward. Their deaths still hurt, their bodies contorted in ways that even a Cybertronian shouldn’t twist, but they were distant. Put out of his thoughts on most occasions and only burned their images into his mind when his defenses were low.

But Sam….

Sam had been a little brother. Someone Bumblebee could mentor, protect. And he had failed. He had let his brother terminate. Sam depended on Bee to keep him safe and to always have his back, but Bee had been unable to stop the passing of Sam’s life. His interior still held the stain of life, though Ratchet had some of the humans to clean Bumblebee while he was in recovery. There were still traces of Sam. Of his life. What he left behind. And the few sparse drops of blood that still stained the leather were the only thing left of the life that was lost. The only thing remaining of a gentle spirit. A kind person. A loving friend. An awkward teenager, goofy and silly, but loveable and adorable for all his faults.

And he had perished, crying out to his guardian, his protector…. His brother. 

Bumblebee gave a soft whine as the pain erupted along his spark again. Ironhide was at his side in an instant but for the first time in Bumblebee’s existence, he didn’t fold into the warm, embracing arms that offered respite from the pain. He pushed them away, a part of him offended by the comfort they offered.

Ironhide recoiled, unsure what to do. Deceptions he could fight, kill, no problem. Help a distraught spark find peace? Well, Ironhide didn’t have programming for that. But at his point, he wished he possessed all the knowledge in the universe. It hurt him deeply to see Bumblebee so lost in his despair. 

‘Go away,’ a sound clip sounded from Bee’s systems. He kept his face adverted from his long time friend and protector. 

Ironhide had taught Bee everything he knew and this was the first time Bee felt that it wasn’t enough. Either Ironhide didn’t possess enough knowledge to prevent this from happening, or Bumblebee was a poor student. Either way, Sam had paid for it with his life.

And Ironhide had been the one to speak such horrible and damaging things to Bumblebee. 

“I’m sorry, kid, I really am,’ Ironhide said, his voice gravely with strain. “I know it hurts, but know that we will do everything we can to help you through this.”

‘Go away,’ the clip sounded again, Bumblebee unable to look his old mentor in the optics. 

It hurt too much. Ironhide’s voice, his presence, even the pity in his optics, it all reminded Bumblebee of the moment Ironhide spoke the words that ended everything. Ironhide was the physical embodiment of the worst moment Bumblebee was forced to live.

“You know you can talk to us,” Ironhide said, hoping to get a positive reaction out of Bumblebee. It didn’t do any good to sit in solitude when one’s spark was in such turmoil. “Any of us. Day or night cycle. You just call and we’ll be here.”

“I want to be alone,’ came from the speakers in a soft, feminine voice. 

Ironhide gave a nod of understanding, his joints creaking. Without another word he left, watching Bumblebee lie down on his berth and curl into the human fetal position. 

“Still doesn’t want to talk about it?” Prime asked as soon as Ironhide closed the door.

“No,” Ironhide confirmed walking with Prime to the communications center. “He just wants to be left alone. Ratchet said this is part of the healing process.”

“The humans share many emotional functions as ourselves,” Prime confirmed.

“How can one be so attached to a human?” Sideswipe asked, catching the drift of the conversation the two officers were having upon arrival. “I mean, their lives are so short compared to ours, why get attached when you know they’re going to terminate?”

“Bee thought of Sam as his little brother,” Prime said, hoping to put it in context for the frontliner. Sideswipe wasn’t known for his emotional understanding.

“Trust me, it’s not that great,” Sunstreaker put in, earning a heated glare from his brother.

“We were sparked at the same time, lugnuts!” Sideswipe snapped. “We’re the same age. Neither is older or younger.”

“Nor any more mature,” Ironhide snapped, earning a sheepish look from both twins. “Bumblebee is mourning the loss of his adopted brother. Surely even the two of you can understand the devastation he must be feeling.” Ironhide gave both a sickened look before adding, “If you can’t understand what that’s like, why are you even fighting on our side? You would be better served with the Cons.”

Neither twin got in a retort as Ironhide turned and stomped from the room. He had already blown up every target and makeshift target, on base. Even the couch in the human rec room had met a fiery end. His mood did not improve, regardless how many fires he was responsible for. 

“What is wrong with him?” Sunstreaker sneered after the retreating Topkick.

“It’s when we see suffering we are reminded of what we have lost ourselves,” Prime said, giving Sunstreaker a mournful expression. “The pain may not be our own, but at one time we called it friend.”

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost Sunny,’ Sideswipe admitted.

A sharp smack to the helm rang throughout the room. 

“Course I would have less processor damage from impacts,” Sideswipe added in a calm voice. He was used to receiving swats from his twin.

“But that human, he was just like any other,” Sunstreaker put in, his frame buzzing as he searched the internet. “There are over seven billion more. I’m sure we could find another.”

“Sam was one of a kind,” Prime said, fondness touching his voice and features.

“Is that why everyone seems to mourn for him?” Sideswipe asked, curious as to the grieving process. He never mourned. The only one who mattered to him was standing beside of him, a constant, eternal companion that death would not even separate. 

“Perhaps if you viewed Sam from my point of view,” Prime said, sending a data packet that contained the precious few hours Sam had been with the Autobots. 

The twins shrugged and opened the packets, scouring the time and processing the imagery. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until the final battle against Megatron came into prominence, the twins watching through Prime’s own optics.

Sam had ran to protect the All Spark. He had tried to save the robotic race that tried to maim and kill him, yet he was accepting of the Autobots, even asking if Bumblebee could remain by his side as Guardian. The twins were shocked to see the small organic racing along with Prime, and the look in his human eyes as Prime informed him that to save the world, he would have to sacrifice Prime. 

Neither twin know that little tidbit of information. 

But the resolve on the young man’s face, the determination in his eyes, the strength of his voice as he proclaimed to Prime, an alien being he had no relations to, that there was no victory without sacrifice. Both twins could understand such thinking. But they weren’t expecting the small human to go up to Megatron, and Sunstreaker winced at the downloading memory, and with some unknown reserve of courage, forced the All Spark into Megatron’s spark.

It was bravery on many levels. The twins were engrossed in the recollection, in awe at the image of a small organic withstanding the sheer power of their most sacred artifact. It didn’t escape their notice that Sam had smiled at Prime, his look speaking volumes about the respect and admiration toward the Autobot leader. There was no way Sam was going to sacrifice Optimus. Even if it meant his own termination, Sam had boldly met the threat, and taken down his enemy.

It was admirable.

“And the humans?” Sideswipe asked, remembering how the humans had been wearing black bands around their arms to signal the loss of one of their own.

“Sam may not have enlisted to military service but he showed courage in the face of termination and was willing to sacrifice himself to save his planet,” Prime said, his voice soft. “Regardless of his lack of military affiliation, those who fought by his side and witnessed his courage, honored the life that was lost.”

“Humans,” Sunstreaker said, his optics staring at a few mingling military officials who were talking over their computer pads. “Such strange creatures.”

Prowl overheard the statement, nodding mentally with the assessment. Prowl had already been debriefed on what had transpired. Though his spark mourned the loss of the artifact that gave his home planet life, Prowl couldn’t muster up emotion toward the human who had basically ended the war, but also, the Cybertronian race. Perhaps had Prowl been present during the final battle and witnessed the deeds as they transpired, he would have felt something more toward the organic. As it was, he had only watched a rendering of the battle and witnessed the aftereffects of Sam’s loss. He didn’t realize how close Sam and Bumblebee had become since the scout landed and took up guardianship of the boy. Bumblebee was mourning as though his own spark kin had been taken from him.

Prowl couldn’t understand such a thing.

Halting mid-step, Prowl checked the date and time, realizing it was his turn to check on Bumblebee. Ratchet had insisted that everyone stop by to greet him, letting him know that he was still loved and had friends who cared for him and would help him through the grief. 

But Bumblebee wanted to be alone. All attempts at consolation had been met with distance and silence. Bumblebee even refused to speak through comms, though they were now operational. 

All this sorrow… for a human?

Prowl frowned. Maybe he had misevaluated Sam. Perhaps Bumblebee had seen something in the small human that others had missed? Prime had noticed it, for he too had lapsed into periods of silence and solitude.

What could he be missing?

Prowl paused outside of Bumblebee’s private quarters, his CPU churning with variables and equations, trying to make sense of the impact this one small organic being had to the First Arrivals. 

It didn’t compute. 

He gave a soft knock to announce his visit, a gesture he found archaic and childish, but if Bumblebee refused to use his comms, it was the only alternative. A distinct beep was his answer, and with a steely resolve, Prowl opened the door.

“I come to check on you,” Prowl stated, finding the youngling curled up on his berth. 

When Bumblebee looked up, tears pooled in his optics, making them shimmer like endless wells of sorrow. 

Prowl offered a soft sigh, obeying the directive given by Prime when confronted with such a situation. Prowl went to the youngest Autobot and opened his arms, wincing as Bee allowed himself to be embraced. Prowl didn’t enjoyed physical contact, so he was out of his element. Sharing and displaying feelings wasn’t exactly in his comfort zone. 

Bumblebee fumbled along the tacticians forearm, asking silent permission for a hard line connection for deeper level of communication. Prowl relented, linking himself to Bumblebee and gasp at the torrent bombarding his emotional center. Images of Sam and tingles of joy and affection toward the teenage organic rose up in Prowl’s processor and just as the tactician started to filter the emotional discord coming through the link, he felt his battle computer start to engage with the emotional attachment that flooded from his processor and settle in his spark. 

How could one be so attached to something so small, short lived, and rather insignificant in the grand scheme of things? 

Prowl locked up, falling offline from the emotional disturbance crashing into his systems. His drop in defenses was all that was necessary for Bumblebee to reverse their link. With practiced ease born out of special ops training, he hacked the tactician’s bandwidth and searched for the file that contained the full story of what happened that fateful night. 

Bumblebee stared into space as he downloaded the file, his hand rubbing his chest plates directly over his spark to quell the errant throbbing. When Bumblebee opened the file, his breathing function halted and tears glistened around his optics as he viewed the pictures and report of the night his best friend painted his interior with his own life blood. 

0I-0-0O00-O0-0I-0-O0-O0-I0-0-0O-0-0OOOO0-0-0O-0-I0-I0-I0-I0-0I-0I00-0-O0-0O-0


	11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

 

00OOI-OO-0-OOOOO—I—I-O---0—0-0-0O0O-0-0O0-00-O-O0-0-0O0-0O00I0-O0-O0O0 

 

Party. 

A celebration of a life. 

A stranger wanted to celebrate their birth and in doing so, ended the life of someone precious and dear whose lives had been touched by his gentle presence. A life that had saved the world and sacrificed much, just for the sake of those faceless strangers. Now, that same stranger lived to see more memorable occasions and mark them with such callous disregard, while the life of a hero lay cold and forgotten. 

Sam was gone. His body ashen and decaying, his shell spent as the life was robbed from his organic frame. 

A party.

That’s what ended Sam’s life. Someone wanted to mark a special occasion, and instead, destroyed lives of not only the one who perished, but those who suffered with the emptiness in their lives. 

Who could be so cruel? Thoughtless?

Bumblebee withdrew, staring into nothingness, his spark faltering.

The heat of the pain threaten to overwhelm him again. Error messages scrolled red across his internal displays. He wanted to rant and rage and demand to know why such an atrocity was allowed to be committed. 

Where was the justice? Where was the peace? How did this balance the universe?

Bumblebee shook his helm, trying to dispel the anguish in his processor, raw and bleeding, just as easily as Sam had done all those weeks ago in his interior. He had experienced pain and torment that ruined by Megatron’s lust for power. Peace had not come easy to the young spark, which was too pure to be tainted with such hatred and sadness. It took a long time for Bee to come to terms with what he had witnessed. The cold isolation of space during his travels to find the All Spark had helped ease his processor, but what really brought him tranquility, was Sam. 

How fitting Bumblebee find his solace in Tranquility, with a human who ended their war? 

Sam could have made this pain better. When Bumblebee spent long nights rocking on his tires lost in memories long past, Sam would slip into the driver’s seat, hold the steering wheel and allow the war torn spark to center on his presence. He held wisdom in his tiny, warm presence. 

When words were needed, Sam found a way to speak them, though they seemed awkward and clumsy from the teen’s lips. But no matter how insecure Sam was about his comfort, he always found the right thing to say. The right expression to calm Bee’s spark. 

Other times, the words weren’t necessary. Sam would just hold the steering wheel or rest his hand on the hood and Bee could feel the warmth of his human skin. A pulse of life beat in that organic shell. The physical warmth was only surpassed by the human’s organic spark dwarfing all other attempts at solace and beating in perfect time to a scared, lost spark. 

It was soothing, like a lullaby that transcended the barriers of time and space. A song that both beings could share, though they hailed from different worlds. 

Now, Bumblebee would never again feel that comfort. Feel that drumming of life. Hear the words spoken in the darkness from a friend, an ally, a brother who could understand and somehow, just by his very presence, take the pain away.

Bee emitted a soft electronic keen, unable to find peace in the world. Sam has suffered in the darkness, thinking his best friend had terminated, and that he was to blame. He had been cold, and thought himself alone, his last vestige of life begging forgiveness for a crime that was not committed.

The keen became a pitching whine as Bee tried to find another way to express his grief, but the pain only worsened. 

Sam was gone. 

It would have been one thing to have him to perish in a war, fighting for what he believed in. To perish in the darkness, feeling his life slip away and feeling like he caused the termination of his friend… that was inexcusable. There could be no words of comfort or gestures that would ease the torment twisting Bee’s spark so cruelly, his chassis hurt. 

He rubbed the place over his spark chamber, feeling the mocking beat of his life. Sam had been fascinated by the spark of life that beat in the metal bodies. Many times he had sought the soothing pulse along Bee’s hood. When he was in root mode, Sam would lay his head against the scarred and pitted chest plates, Bumblebee holding the small human to him as if a parent consoling a child. The gentle thrum of life always greeted Sam’s inquiry, and he would gasp in awe at such a thing. It was hard to imagine life existed in such a fashion.

Life.

Sam was gone. All because someone wanted to celebrate a minuscule achievement of their life.

A teenager, just like Sam, had turned eighteen. Such a thing was considered a milestone for human culture and as most milestones went, it had to be celebrated in grand style. Bumblebee just didn’t understand why someone’s joyous occasion meant the termination of his best friend. 

Sam would never see his eighteenth birthday. He and his family were now denied that luxury. Sam would never celebrate another birthday, nor any other holiday or triumph. His dreams of going to college were gone. Any life beyond high school, possibly involving Mikaela and a family of his own, were deleted without memory from those who took that life away.

Eighteen, and according to the police records, legally drunk. How an eighteen year old had managed to obtain liquor had been omitted from the police file, but the report was quiet clear. As were the pictures, and those burned themselves into Bumblebee’s core memory banks. 

Primus, there had been so much blood. Whoever had taken the pictures for the report had made sure to capture the faded spirit of Sam. It pained Bee’s spark to see it, but he couldn’t stop staring at Sam’s visage, slumped over the steering wheel, one arm at rest against the column, his face lax, his lips pressed against the center of the wheel. One last gesture of farewell to his brother.

And the blood.

Sam’s upper body was soaked in the fluid. The accident photographer had captured the inside of the Camaro after the wreck. The puddle formed under the teen after his body had been removed had nearly stopped Bumblebee’s spark. The blood filled the seat, stained the shattered glass and dripped into a crimson pool on the floor. 

Bumblebee turned his attention back to the pictures of SUV that had struck him and saw the drunken teenager extracted and placed on a backboard. His two friends were trussed in similar fashion; one sporting a wrapping around his wrist, an EMT leant over speaking to him. The pictures said a thousand words, the police report adding a dull cacophony that echoed in Bumblebee’s spark. 

The pictures flashed in order they were taken, the time stamp on them providing Bumblebee with a near movie-like quality that played on a never-ending loop. 

Each of the three teens, two brothers and their friend, were extracted from the carnage and taken by ambulance to receive treatment. The officers in the pictures pointed to key interests like the two bottles of liquor that were on the passenger side of the SUV.

Bumblebee scanned the report, reading over the police findings and feeling his tank threaten to rebel. All three teens were classified as legally drunk. The one in the passenger seat had sustained a cracked wrist upon impact, but the other two had suffered only bumps and bruises. 

All three had been discharged after treatment.

Pictures of Sam floated to the forefront, Bumblebee centering on the slumped figure before the next set of pictures showed his body placed on a gurney and a sheet pulled over his face. It was the type of pose Sam would have adopted had he wanted to sleep in and his mother was adamant about his removal from his bed. 

But it wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t a serene, often occurring situation.

Sam’s life was taken.

And just to celebrate eighteen years of a stranger’s life. 

Their foolishness had destroyed a talented life that had saved them from unimaginable pain and suffering at the hands of a deranged Decepticon. A cruel being who would have tortured, mutilated, or terminated the three teenage survivors had they been present. 

That sacrifice was tossed aside. Sam’s life lost, his victory against all odds, now forgotten. No one would know what he did or how he saved a lost race. Sam had defeated a tyrant that was bent on destroying not only his homeworld, but every planet in the galaxy. 

Sam had been a hero.

And yet, the stupidity and recklessness by a stranger, sacrificed that precious life without a thought or care. The records showed that the driver of the SUV had been given a few hours of community service and suspended license, but no form of jail time or monetary compensation had been allotted. 

Bee felt his spark flutter, his fists clenching as he felt hot waves of shame and grief crash over his emotional center. There would be no more rejoicing. Hope was gone. It was lost when a hero was taken from the world by such callous disregard. 

Body aching from physical and emotional pain Bumblebee cried. The angry scream of his broken vocalizer was a pale comparison to the anguish in his spark. 

‘Bumblebee? I know you don’t wish to communicate right now but I wanted to let you know that I have rebuilt your transformation cog,’ Ratchet said over comms. 

Unable to produce audio sound from his damaged vocalizer, Bumblebee answered back via comms.

‘How long until I can transform and leave base?’

‘I’m not sure that is such a good idea, not in your current emotional state,’ Ratchet said, knowing the scout was still grieving for the loss of his friend.

‘I just want to get away for awhile,’ Bumblebee said, looking to an immobilized Prowl. ‘I need to be alone.’

‘Understood,’ Ratchet said, knowing that the stages of grief affected everyone different. And Bumblebee wasn’t known to display his grief to the general public. ‘I can run some scans after the installation and if you maintain sufficient power levels you may leave.’ Ratchet waited half a second before adding, ‘But you must keep in radio contact with us and tell us if something is wrong.’

Something was wrong, but Bumblebee couldn’t say that. In truth, he didn’t know the name of the monster that had taken up residence in his spark and threatened to send him into a wild abandon. It coiled and twisted and made his internal workings seem foreign to him. It was disconcerting and unnerving, but it somehow felt right to feel this strange anomalous sensation. 

There were several memory files of Sam’s burial waiting in the data packets from the Autobots that had paid tribute to Sam’s life, but Bumblebee was unable to open the files. If he saw….. if he witnessed Sam being put to rest… it would end him.

‘I will be there in fifteen minutes,’ Bumblebee said.

‘I will be here,’ Ratchet confirmed, ending the transmission.

Bee let out a whine, his engine running hot from where he had been holding back his grief while he spoke with Ratchet. But it was too much. 

Hot anger bubbled up, erupting as grating whines and clicks from Bumblebee’s form. His damaged vocalizer was unable to produce the sounds Bee longed to express. He leaned forward, resting his helm against Prowl’s shoulder as he allowed the raging emotions to flow over him. The Second in Command was going to take some time to reboot, and until the time he woke, he would be an acceptable substitute for the brother that was missing.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Half an hour after his summons, Bee entered the medical ward. Ratchet nodded toward the berth and Bee lay down, feeling the cool gel of the cushion accept his weight. It mirrored his own internal struggle.

“This will take a few minutes and I’m going to have shut off your neural relays,” Ratchet said, pulling over a tray of instruments he would need for the installation. “Afterwards, you will have to transform a few times and let me know if there are any error codes that appear in your HUD.’

Bee offered a nod of assent, not wanting to open comms. He was grateful the others had done as he asked and left him alone. In times like this, he needed the peace of silence and the chance to grieve without watchful optics. The last time anyone had witnessed Bumblebee’s weakness; he was barely into adult form and had returned from his first scouting mission. he had been devastated, recalling the twisted and charred remains of his fellow Cybertronians. Many a night he had been roused from a sound charge by the accusing stares of the dead. The stench of their spilled fluids mingling with the burning frames still slipped into his senses when he was unaware.   
But they were strangers. Bee had mourned for the loss of life. Their faces had faded over time, Bumblebee finding solace in the age old remedy and the quietness of space. The long months of drifting through space in search of the All Spark had been the final bandage on a wound afflicted to a young psyche. 

Ratchet moved his instruments and without further words, began the shut down sequences to allow him to work on Bumblebee’s frame without causing physical pain. He was silent as he worked, knowing the young scout needed some time to allow his spark to heal from the emotional wounds.

Bumblebee felt his systems go offline, making him numb to Ratchet’s movements as he removed the now pristine plating and started to work on his internals. 

Bee found it hard to be around Ratchet. The part of his processor that could function within a haze, rallied against the medic. But the calm, ever present gentle spirit of the scout eased the internal tirade, whispering that it wasn’t Ratchet’s fault. 

But a part of it was. 

Ratchet should have been there. He could have helped Sam. He should have known Bumblebee was in trouble and that Sam was losing his life. Ratchet was a healer, the one who could fix anything. He could bring you back from the brink of the Well if he set his mind to it. 

So why didn’t Ratchet try harder? Why did he allow Sam to perish? 

As the thoughts raced through his meta, a small part of him wondered, why didn’t Ratchet let him go as well? Surely with the extent of the damage and the physical suffering he had endured, it was enough to earn the respite of termination? So why did Ratchet fight so hard to keep Bumblebee alive? It seemed so cruel now that Bee thought about it. Sam was released from torment and Bee was submerged in the suffocating quagmire of helplessness and despair. 

Bee felt a wave of anger, not at Ratchet, but himself. Ratchet had tried everything in his power and there was no way he could have known Bumblebee had been disabled and Sam had been teetering on the brink of death. Ratchet wasn’t infallible. He was mortal, just like anyone else. He shouldn’t have to bear the weight of Bumblebee’s accusation. 

Shame welled up in Bee’s spark. He recalled the long, endless days drifting in an out of consciousness, Ratchet a constant presence in his mind. Ratchet had forgone all manner of charge and refueling, staying by Bumblebee’s side in case he needed him. He kept company during the endless hours of patches and welding and made sure the scout had beautiful clouds in which to fly. 

So why did Bumblebee still feel betrayed by Ratchet’s healing servos? Why did Ratchet not understand the full implications of the accident? Why didn’t Ratchet arrive sooner? Why didn’t he save Sam? Why did he keep Bee alive to live through this torture? 

Bumblebee inwardly sighed. There wasn’t anyone he could talk to about this. Ironhide was just as guilty as Ratchet, though Ironhide had provided the steel nail to Bumblebee’s emotional coffin. Ironhide had said those words. The ones that Bee never wanted to hear. Ironhide had stood there, looked Bumblebee in the optics and said those cruel, harsh words that no one should be forced to endure. How could Bee look to him for guidance and assurances and comfort when he was the reason why Bee felt these things? How could Bumblebee ever trust Ironhide again? 

Each time Bee looked at the weapon’s master, he felt his spark grow cold. Ironhide had taught Bumblebee everything he knew and either Ironhide was a bad teacher, or Bumblebee had been a poor student. Either way, Sam had paid for the lesson with his life. How could Ironhide even stand to look at Bumblebee, knowing that he had failed his charge?

And Prime…. Well, Bee didn’t see how Prime could make the ache go away. He was the leader of their race and bestowed with the wisdom of the ancients, but he also had the humans to deal with. The government and the officials and the chaotic mess that made up the governing bodies. Titans that were struggling for power and dominance in a world that was awash in turmoil and mistrust. It was a minefield and Prime needed his wits about him to navigate it. He couldn’t be bothered with soothing Bee’s spark ache. Besides, Prime wasn’t as close to Sam. He didn’t understand the deep bond the two shared. 

Prime still believed Bee to be a youngling. The last spark granted by the All Spark. It was strange, being surrounded by mechs who were so much older and wiser and yet, they couldn’t see the adult before them. It was a similar conundrum with Sam. His parents couldn’t see the young adult now blooming before their very eyes. The two youths had bonded over such similar situations. 

Bee remained silent, his processor burning with the memory of Sam.

There was no one to ease his torment. He was alone in this despair, just as Sam was alone that fateful night and now lies in silence beneath the Earth. 

It just wasn’t fair.

Sam had his own dreams and aspirations. And now, all of that was gone. Long gone were the hours spent in silence, the two sharing just the companionship the other provided. Other times they both struggled to speak over the other, so full of life and energy they nearly burst with it. They were almost the same age, emotionally and psychologically. Sam knew that it was like, being tossed into a chaotic situation and not knowing your true place or the emotional weight that was settled upon shoulders too young to understand the full implications. But Sam knew. Sam knew what it was like to be pivotal in the outcome of a battle. Sam knew what it was like to be terrified and yet, standing up and doing what was right. 

Bee had found a brother, small and organic and so very mortal. That was something the others could never understand. 

Many a night the teen had snuck out of his house and slipped into Bee’s interior. Long hours were spent talking about normal, teenage worries and anxieties. Bumblebee could relate, being considerably younger than his peers. 

Sam had shared his doubts and feelings for Mikaela. Bee didn’t understand the complexities of humans, let alone females, but he could listen and be there for his brother nonetheless. Bee never claimed to understand the human psyche, let alone the female perspective. He doubted even the great Matrix could understand the complex workings of a feminine mind. Maybe that’s why all bearers of the Matrix had been mechs? The artifact couldn’t fathom the femme frame of mind and gravitated toward a processor it could understand? That insight had earned a hearty round of laughter from both youths, their conversation taking the usual, ‘downhill’ spiral. 

Sam would sit and discuss his plans for the future, feeling the weight of his parents hopes and dreams sitting on him. He wanted to do them proud. He wanted to be the only Witwicky to graduate college and earn a degree and to see his parents faces when he accepted his diploma. 

But that was now long gone. A dream. Taken away by a stranger.

A soft curse drew Bumblebee’s attention. He heard Ratchet grunt an oath, then the sound of metal being shaved, then the affirmation that it was sized correctly. Bee was thankful that Ratchet had given him some peace. Well, he still cursed like a dock worker, but that was more habit than making actual conversation. Ratchet’s words were more of background noise than anything. He always argued with the parts and provided his own commentary to keep himself occupied. 

Ratchet was always the professional, even if that meant beating some sense into his patients. But with Bumblebee, he didn’t know how to help him. It was something that Bumblebee had to come to terms with in his own time. When Bee withdrew, demanding to be left alone, Ratchet had ensured everyone gave the scout his space. Bee would have to deal with the pain and sorrow in his own way and in his own time. 

Bumblebee had spent the time in his quarters, just staring at nothing, his processor working in violent contrast with his spark. The constant stream of support from his friends was nice, but the idea of their companionship made Bee recoil. It wasn’t their companionship Bee wanted. He wanted Sam. He wanted to hear Sam’s voice, and to feel his human heart beat against the leather of his seat. Bee never had such a strong kinship to another. 

His spark gave a pang of regret. He wanted to rub at the sensation but couldn’t feel his body, rendering him as helpless as he was that fateful night. With such thoughts, his spark surged in a painful tide, beating against its cage in mocking fury. 

Why did it never leave and give him some respite? Why did the pain always crop up at the worst moments and steal the most precious of memories?

Bee was pulled form his melancholy thoughts by Ratchet grasping his olfactory sensor to gain his attention. He gave a chirp of question, letting Ratchet know he was listening.

“I said, it’s going to take a couple minutes for your systems to reboot and the cog to be recognized,” Ratchet said, his face creased in annoyance. Apparently his usual bedside manner was in charge. “I’m going to start your systems and allow them to recalibrate. You alert me if there are any errors or codes that require a patch.”

Bee gave a beep in understanding, the first ‘verbal’ sound he’d made since sequestering himself in his quarters. 

Ratchet wanted to give a noise of triumph upon hearing the sound but refrained. It was up to Bumblebee when he was ready to speak and have company again.

Ratchet grumbled under his breathing function and turned, grabbing a small scanner. “Anything?”

Bee gave a shake of his head. There were no messages appearing on his HUD and there were no flares of input from his body. 

Ratchet nodded and typed a small code, waiting a moment before asking, “How about now?”

Bee shook negative again.

“Good, good,” Ratchet muttered, typing another set of keys. “Now, you may feel a little burn as the calibrator engages for the first time.”

Bee gave a nod of understanding, expecting the same type of racing fire he had experienced during the accident. But the stinging burn along his relays was nothing compared to the kiss of an electrical line. The sensation disappeared within a matter of seconds, leaving behind a cool tingle. 

Ratchet stayed silent, his optics intent upon the screen. He waited another minute before typing in a code, moving the connecting link to another port, then added, “Any system codes on your end?”

Bee shook his head. His body felt normal, which was strange. His spark seemed diminished, his processor far too achy. But nothing appeared to garner Ratchet’s attention in the scanner. Surely if something was amiss, Ratchet would notice. 

“The first few transformations may be rough and hurt like the Pit,” Ratchet said, detaching the last device and storing his gear. He pushed the tray with the instruments aside to allow Bee room to move. “Give yourself a couple of minutes to adjust, then I want you to transform, but do it slowly.” 

Bee pulled himself upright, and sat on the edge of the berth. His pedes dangled from the side, resembling Sam’s posture when he sat on Bee’s hood. A pang in his spark chamber made Bee whine, his servo going to his chest automatically and rubbing in a circle.

“Pain?” Ratchet asked, obviously thinking it was from the newly installed part.

Bee dropped his servo and shook his head. The part was fitting just fine. It was the vessel that was faulty. 

“Try it now,’ Ratchet said, motioning to the space in front of him.

Bee stood from the berth and with a grimace, engaged his transformation sequence. It was rough. His joints had locked and the lack of movement for an extended period had rendered some parts inflexible. Parts squeaked and ground and with a grunt, Bee landed on all four tires. 

“Again,” Ratchet commanded.

Bee obliged, finding the transformation easing with each movement. After the sixth transformation, Ratchet gave him a clean bill of health with the only order that Bee was to perform his transformations slow. And if he decided to leave base, then he was to remain in constant radio contact. If there were any problems he was to alert Ratchet immediately.

Now that he had freedom, Bumblebee opened comms and said, ‘Prowl linked to my systems. He’s unconscious in my quarters.’

“Let me guess,” Ratchet said, with a sigh. His servos went to his hips in a very Earthen fashion as his expression soured. “Slagger couldn’t handle the emotional outpour into his CPU and shorted himself again?”

Bee gave a duck of his head. He didn’t mean to knock out the SIC. But it had its usefulness. Not that he was going to admit it to Ratchet.

“Figures,’ Ratchet said, throwing a dirty look toward the med bay doors. “I had hoped he’d lost that glitch but apparently it’s only worsened with time.” He looked at Bee with his normal grumpy medic face before adding, “Go easy on the transformations and if you get into any trouble, alert me immediately.”

Bee gave a nod and a chirp, sounding very much the sparkling and transformed, feeling the delicious freedom of spinning tires.

The same sound that always elicited a whoop of glee from his organic brother.

Now…silence.

He sped out into the night, allowing it to consume him as it had taken Sam.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

 

-0O0-I0-0O00I-0-I0O0-0O-0-I0-I0-O-0O-0I-0-0O-I0-0I-0I0-O0O-0O0-O0O-0O-0O-0OOOO

 

Bee idled on the corner, his focus on one house in particular. It wasn’t the biggest estate that dotted the outer limits of the suburb, but it was big enough to easily support a three car garage. The house had been easy to find. Prowl’s connections to the police bandwidths had given the scout all the information he needed. 

He felt this was where he was needed. He had to be here, outside this home, watching over its residence. This was something that he had to do. An indefinable thing that plagued his processor and weighed on his spark. The kind of unexplainable thing that would have Prowl twitching in stasis for many hours. 

But he had to see. He had to have visual confirmation. Of life, of existence, of some piece of hope that life was as it should be. Then he could move on. He just needed that confirmation.

The door to the house opened, and out stepped two teenage boys. They were laughing, pulling on their jackets and walking to the brand new sporty red Mazda parked in the driveway. Music started to pound as soon as the engine turned, the beat throbbing and lively as they exited the driveway. It was the kind of music that Sam would ask Bumblebee to play.

Unknown to either of them, a yellow Camaro pulled away from the curb and followed at a sedate pace. 

Bumblebee had recognized the two boys as the ones who had been in the SUV that T-boned him. Prowl’s connections garnered him the information, the details forever etched in his processor. They had sported a few bruises and were released the next day into the custody of their parents. The two brothers looked healthy and happy, gunning the engine of the Mazda and heading to some unknown destination. 

They were carefree. Jubilant. Enjoying the freedom of the highway at speeds Sam favored and often begged Bumblebee to edge closer to the higher numbers. Bumblebee rarely indulged his young charge, but when he did, constant live uplink to satellite feeds kept the duo safe. Sam would never know that and Bee never would have told him. Sometimes the illusion of recklessness was all that was needed.

Bumblebee followed a couple cars behind the Mazda. He had to make sure that the driver and his companions were safe. That they knew how close they had come to losing their own lives and that they treated their gift with the proper respect. A stray wisp of thought entered Bumblebee’s processor. Did they know they destroyed a precious life and nearly ended another? 

Were they aware of such things?

Did they feel remorse? 

Were they sickened when they learned they had killed Sam? Did Sam’s face haunt their dreams? Did they understand the loss of such a life? Did they sympathize with the family left behind that had to find a way to pick up shattered pieces and continue with their own existence, regardless of how much it hurt?

Bumblebee stayed focused on the red bumper, following its every turn, unaware of his surroundings. They raced toward the onramp for the highway, Bumblebee’s own engine feeling a surge that it hadn’t been felt since that fateful day he took Sam and Miles out for a drive. 

It felt good to feel the wind whip through his grill. The only thing lacking was the whooping of childish goading and reckless abandon. The warmth of a human body rocking in the seat and gripping the steering wheel with small, but steadfast human hands. 

But the steady thrum of human life no longer beat against the seat. 

Now, Sam’s blood soaked into the leather and stitching, the human fluid bathing the interior of his best friend. Bee had absorbed that life, blending it with his own. Sam’s blood would remain with him, forever binding him to his friend. Sam would live on, his memory never to be forgotten.

He may never take his place behind the wheel again, but a ghost of his presence would always remain with his adopted brother. They were different, yet they were one. 

The Mazda took the exit off of the highway and waited at the red light, the stereo thumping to the current popular band. When the light turned green they drove on, Bee keeping a safe distance. He knew his color was flashy, and didn’t want to attract their attention. 

He just wanted to make sure they were safe. 

Ten minutes later and the boys pulled up in front of a grand house with more roses along its front than a professional greenhouse. Bumblebee let out a soft whistle upon seeing the flowers. They were offering their last burst of color before sleeping for the winter. Bee sighed, knowing Judy had tried to get her roses to grow and the poor woman could only get the bushes to be scrubby, thorny thickets that refused to offer more than one bud at a time. Eventually she pulled out the offending stumps and transplanted her infamous snowball bushes, which thrived in the cultivated beds. Bumblebee loved the snowball bushes. Judy had shared a picture of Sam surrounded by the full blooms, the boy nearly disappearing amongst their white petals. 

Sam had looked so angelic.

A wide-set, athletic boy exited his house upon hearing the pounding throb of his visitor’s stereo. He was Aaron Adams, and had been the third passenger on that fateful night over three months ago. He had sustained a broken arm, but that was the extent of the injuries on the offending party’s roster. A cracked bone and a few scratches… and Sam had perished in a glass and metal coffin. 

The driver behind the wheel of the Mazda was Derek Grayson and Aaron’s best friend since kindergarten. Derek had been driving when he crashed into Bee. The police report stated his alcohol level was twice the legal limit. His juvenile record showed he had been warned by the police on two other occasions about being in public while intoxicated. He had a muscular build with sandy hair and a handsome, boyish face. 

Having gone to school and been in trouble together Bee had found they had identical records, though Derek now had the badge of murder staining his record. The police labeled it an ‘accident’, but Bumblebee knew better. He knew the proper title to bestow upon the boy.

Ambrose was Derek’s younger brother, with the same build and growing reputation. Ambrose was going to celebrate his sixteenth birthday in a month. 

Another human milestone.

Another party.

They could have been Sam’s classmates, had their parents not sent them to private school. They were the same age. Had the same hopes, and dreams, and lives ahead of them that was meant to be lived to its fullest and enjoyed, leaving behind a legacy of good deeds with no regrets. 

But Sam had lost his only opportunity. He would never have the chances Derek, Ambrose and Aaron enjoyed or looked forward to. Sam’s future was torn away from him, his friends and family left untethered in the wake of his absence. 

How was that fair?

Sam was innocent. He had never done a wrong, at least nothing that would warrant having his life end in such a brutal and excruciating way. And yet, the ones responsible, continued to laugh it up and go on with their lives. 

It seemed as if the death had no effect on them at all. Could they really be that coldhearted? That… dead, inside?

“Come on, Bitch,’ Derek called, earning a sign from his friend as he dashed back inside to grab his coat. Derek yelled out of the window toward the open door. “Hurry up, slow poke! I’ll be in the grave by the time you’re ready to go!”

Bumblebee inwardly frowned. Were they not affected by the life they took? Could they not feel the emptiness left behind when one loses a friend, a brother? Had they no empathy toward parents who would never again hold their child or offer words of comfort and love. Shouldn’t they be bereaved of the life that was lost?

Aaron exited, pulling on his coat and flipping off his best friend. Derek laughed, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to get Ambrose to take the back seat. With grumbling, Ambrose did as told, barely squeezing into the tight confines of the backseat of the sports car. 

The trio took off; hitting the highway and Bumblebee felt his spark flutter in excitement. He wondered where they were going. Ten minutes later they took an exit near the river. Bumblebee hesitated. 

What would three teenage boys be doing down here? 

There was a train rumbling nearby and a factory that was puffing out great steams of clouds, its stacks chugging and coughing out fumes. It was very noisy, and the warehouse the boys pulled into was derelict. Most of its windows were broken, scrubby weeds growing in the cracked asphalt that led into the wide, hanger like entrance.

Red light reflected from the broken glass as the Mazda turned in the capacious warehouse, pointing the car to the exit in case the teens needed to make a quick escape. 

The engine turned off, its dull hum lost to Bumblebee’s audios. The sound of two car doors slamming shut and three male voices could be discerned. The voices were low and unconcerned but Bumblebee felt his circuits tingle. 

Something was wrong. It didn’t feel right, sitting here in an abandoned area where anyone or anything could happen. It wasn’t safe.

The sound of glass breaking decided Bumblebee’s action before he had a chance to think on it.

Bumblebee swung wide and pulled in to check on the teenagers. With a screech of tires he skidded to a halt a few feet from where the trio stood. 

The noise alerted the three boys to their visitor. They had exited the car and were standing in front, clustered together as Derek slipped his hand into the pocket inside his jacket. Broken bottles littered the ground, along with food wrappers, used condoms and empty spray cans. Graffiti decorated the wall in so many layers, it was hard to make out any one mural. 

“What do we have here?” Derek asked, keeping his hand inside his coat. He waved to the car with his free hand, obviously thinking it was a classmate coming to join their party. 

“Hope it’s that new girl,” Aaron said, sharing a look with Derek. 

Derek grinned and fumbled with his coat pocket. The top portion of a bottle was exposed from the inner depths, giving a hint to the bottle’s contents.

The glimmer of metal flashed from inside Derek’s jacket as he withdrew the bottle. The shimmer captured Bumblebee’s attention. It took only a couple of seconds to scan the contours of the bashful bottle and find a matching label.

“Come on, baby, we won’t bite,” Aaron said, withdrawing a similar bottle from his pocket and waving it in invitation. The look he graced the Camaro with was predatory and lecherous, his teenage mind obviously thinking a potential female conquest was within their grasp. 

Much to Bumblebee’s horror he identified the liquor the two boys carried.

Bumblebee felt his spark seize with the knowledge, the cold validity slapping him in the face and sending him reeling.

The humans hadn’t learned a lesson after all! They were going to indulge and then drive away and end another innocent life! Bumblebee couldn’t let that happen, so he did the only thing that came to his processor. 

He broke protocol and transformed, his optics shining with determination.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

\---------------------------------------------------------------

 

The three humans froze, staring in wide eyed amazement at the mechanical being that sprang from the sleek Camaro. Their spell was broken when Bee bent over, his optics glancing over their faces. Then the reality of the situation hit them hard enough to initiate instant panic. Girly screams filled the air but the noise was lost to the song of the rumbling train and the mechanical huffing of factory equipment. Ambrose and Aaron stood frozen in front of the Mazda.

“What the...?” Derek bellowed, scrambling toward the driver’s door. He tripped over his own feet and fell to the floor in an undignified heap. The bottle he was removing from his coat rolled out of his hand and bumped against the front wheel of the Mazda. 

With a casual flick of his finger, Bee tapped the male on the head, knocking him cold. Derek’s lifeless body folded to the floor, rolling sideways and resting in front of the bottle he had dropped. 

Ambrose struggled to regain his voice, staring in open mouth shock, his head shaking like a deranged dog with a chew toy.

“This isn’t possible!” Ambrose cried. His terrified eyes darted to the lax form of his brother. He couldn’t believe his brother went down so easy. Derek was captain of the football team and wrestling! He was used to the rough and tumble. To see him so easily overpowered was frightening. Now who would look out for Ambrose? 

“Do you have any idea… what you took…. away?” Bee’s voice asked in a broken, disjointed conglomeration of sound clips. Soft hiccupping chirps came out of his vocalizer as he loomed over the two terrified males.

“What are you?” Ambrose asked, looking scared and sickened.

Without warning Bee grasped both humans in his hands and rose, bringing them level to his optics. They screamed and struggled. When they realized how far they were off the ground, their attempts subsided, whimpering at the bright blue orbs of their captor. 

Bee flared his armor, air escaping through the vents in a dangerous hiss that made both boys start at the horrible sound. Then, like dawn cresting the dark horizon, Aaron’s eyes went wide, staring up and down at the car turned robot currently holding him hostage.

“You…. You were the car?” Aaron asked, trying to piece together the puzzle without knowing all the pieces or the picture. “When Derek crashed….. there was a yellow car…that was…. that was…. you?”

Bee gave a slow nod. 

”The one with the kid in it?” Ambrose asked. His body trembled in the firm grip around his waist. “The one Derek hit a few months ago?”

Bee nodded again, grateful the humans were smarter than they first appeared.

“But… how?” Ambrose asked in a hushed voice. “That car was junk. I saw the pictures. It was totaled.” His eyes went wide as a pained whine came from Bee. “You were the car?”

Bee nodded. 

Feeling his spark clench, Bumblebee shook his head, willing the pain to go away, but it stayed. Looking into the young faces that had destroyed his life with their careless disregard, Bumblebee felt the pressure around his spark increase. A dull throb echoed in the chamber, making him feel diminutive and helpless.

The two humans stared, unable to comprehend the internal turmoil happening before their eyes. 

“What… are you going to do… with us?” Aaron asked in a broken voice.

Bee looked to the human, his gaze focusing on the youthful expression full of fear. A coolness enveloped Bee’s senses, weighing on him like an ice floe. He felt too large and yet, far too small inside his frame. He was hot, and freezing down to his core. A heaviness settled in his limbs, though he felt as if he could get airborne within a few bounds. 

“We’re innocent,” Ambrose whispered, his voice taking on a raw, gravely sound.

A tight constriction squeezed Bumblebee’s chest plates. A dull throb that matched the lowered bass coming from the parked Mazda echoed in his processor. In his mind, he could still feel the SUV pressing him against the telephone pole. He could feel Sam’s heart rate slow, his life ebb away, his body cooling into death. 

Sam’s anguished cries, believing he had ended his brother’s life.

And now the one’s responsible were given a new vehicle to cruise the road? A new conveyance to stalk their next prey, available on every block? It wasn’t right. 

It wasn’t fair! 

Feeling a burning pain enter his spark, Bee emitted a childish click, one that would have caused an adult to wrap their arms around him and sooth away his fears. But no one would do that anymore. No one could take away the twisting, endless pain in his soul. There was too much, slowly eating away at his spark and robbing him of life. 

Bee stared into the scared face of Aaron. He could feel the human’s wild heartbeat throbbing throughout his organic frame, pulsing in time with his own errant spark. The sounds were working in tandem, pumping like pistons in a well maintained engine, sending fire and power into Bumblebee’s resolve, strengthening him. The scent of adrenaline and fear hung heavy in the air as the boy’s fight or flight reflexes flooded his systems.

And then Bumblebee felt it.

A smooth, cold, cylinder like shape pressed against the boy’s ribcage. Bee’s sensors could detect the firmness of the glass and the sloshing of the liquid inside.

And then, as storm clouds peeling back to expose a pure blue sky, Bumblebee understood with crystal clarity. 

These humans had treated Sam as garbage, ending his life with their stupidity. 

They had taken away someone their own age that was full of hopes and dreams. All of it, snuffed out because someone wanted to celebrate their minuscule milestone. Their bad choices had ended Sam’s life. An innocent had suffered because someone else couldn’t control their own self absorbed desires. 

They took a life and instead, their father, an attorney, cited propaganda about them being young, under the influence, and promising that they would get a stern lecture and stint in a rehabilitation center. And a judge had agreed to those terms. Sam was taken away from his friends and family and from his mechanical brother, and yet his murderers were allowed to continue with their lives as if nothing had happened. That Sam had not existed or deserved to be remembered. 

Sam’s life had been merely an inconvenience. Now those responsible were free to return to their wicked ways and to continue on such a devastating path. 

They had not learned. And they were endangering other lives with their stupidity.

But not anymore.

Fighting back the anguish, Bumblebee banged his hands together, twisting his servos around each other as if crumpling up a piece of paper to toss into the trash. The boys screamed, feeling their bones twist and distort, breaking free from their flesh and exiting in all directions like a confused compass. Aaron gave one feeble sputter, blood coming from his mouth as his ribs were compressed into powder, their sharp edges puncturing his lungs and allowing them to fill with his life fluid, drowning him in his own life. 

The gurgling cries faded away in the crimson stained mechanical hands, the bodies wadded into Bumblebee’s palm and sounding like wet, crunchy popcorn. He squeezed and twisted, wringing the two bodies together into a lumpy mass of broken bones and bloody flesh. With a sickening thud he deposited the ball of humanity on top of the Mazda’s hood, the lifeblood creating a hellish river along its sleek surface. 

Derek came to with a moan. He grabbed his head, trying to steady his senses, his eyes opening into tiny slits. He could see the yellow behemoth standing in front of him and the red of his Mazda parked on his right. He rose unsteadily, trying to focus on the yellow car-turned-robot that watched him with an impassive expression. 

Derek frowned, pulling his gaze away from the metal giant to search for his brother and best friend. His breath caught in his throat upon see the bloody ornamentation on the hood.

Half of his brother’s face was pressed against his best friends shattered ribs. Their blood flowed in rivers from their mangled forms, the color of their spent life blending into the paint of the Mazda. Just as the horror sunk in, large metal fingers closed around Derek’s ankle, pulling him from the ground.

“Let me go!” Derek cried, his body trembling in the beings grip. “I didn’t do anything! Don’t hurt me!”

“Do you know… what you did?” Bumblebee asked. He held the human upside down by thumb and forefinger, like a disgusting insect being inspected by a scientist.

Derek smothered his sobs and looked into the pale blue orbs of the being holding him in a deathly grip. The blood of his brother and friend still stained the metal pieces that made up the being’s fingers.

“What? What did I do?” Derek half asked, half sobbed. The rush of blood into his head made his boyish face seem boiled and swollen, his eyes threatening to bug out of his head.

“You killed my… little brother!” Bumblebee barked through his amplifiers. The words were strong, the original narrators using the perfect inflection to capture Bee’s emotion. A thudding filled Bumblebee’s senses, his spark pulsing in perfect rhythm to the phantom life.

“What?” Derek screamed. 

Judy’s voice filled the air. “Sammy? Sammy, where are you?”

Then Ron’s voice poured from the speakers. “Come on, Son. I love you, Sam, you know that, right?”

Optimus Prime’s voice rumbled over the sound system. “You fought bravely, Sam. I owe you my life.”

Bumblebee’s own voice filtered through the amplifiers. “I wish to stay with the boy.”

And finally, Sam’s voice rose above the cacophony of memories. “Love you, Bee. You know that….right?”

A soft electronic whine issued from the yellow chassis, the blue optics dimming.

There came the sound of screeching metal and grinding gears. The soul shattering sounds of metal crunching metal and devastation as a life was ended. Then Sam’s voice filled the void.

“Bee? Oh, God, Bee! I killed you! I killed my best friend. Forgive me Bee! I’m sorry! Please, forgive me!”

Bee ended the transmission, his spark fighting its way out of its casing and threatening to explode from his chest. He could feel the spilled blood of his best friend entering his systems, filling his lines and returning to life. 

“It wasn’t my fault!” Derek cried, his tears soaking into his hair. “I was drunk! It was an accident!” 

To hear those words, to think this child, this fleshbag human, believed that his stupidity was excusable by placing the blame on a substance he willingly indigested was all Bumblebee needed to hear. Something clicked in his meta. It was all so clear now.

He turned up the volume on his speakers, blasting the sound of Sam’s dying voice so loudly, it rivaled the rumble of the slow moving train. A dull thudding could be heard in the background, mirroring the sound of life.

thump thump 

“Forgive me, Bee!” Sam’s voice called out as Bumblebee reached with his free hand and pinched Derek’s dangling forearm. 

thump thump

The snapping of the ulna and radius was drown out as Sam’s voice filled the air, “Oh, God! Bee! I’m sorry!” 

thump thump

Derek’s upper arm fractured into a dozen shards, his cries lost as the voice of a ghost rose above the din. He screamed, unable to thrash from the pain and consciousness that threatened to pull him under. His ears were filled with the thundering death cries from the being’s speakers, the words of a fallen brother echoing from the afterlife. 

“I killed my best friend!” 

thump thump

Derek’s other arm suffered the same fate, the bones breaking easily against the might of metallic retribution. And like a sick movie prop, his arms flopped uselessly in the air, the flesh now flat from lack of structural support. His fingers twitched as the nerves were stimulated from random electrical bursts. 

“I’m sorry, Bee. Forgive me!”

thump thump

Derek’s leg was crushed between thumb and forefinger, Bumblebee pinching his way up the male’s leg to his pelvis, where one squeeze cracked the pelvic bone. The second leg was reduced to shards in the same manner, Bumblebee’s face neutral as he replayed the death of his brother. 

Derek gurgled, delirious with pain. His face was draining from red to a pasty white; his body expelling the life giving fluid from the numerous places the bone had breached the skin. He hung as a limp and mangled doll from Bumblebee’s blood stained fingertips. 

Thump… thump…...thump……….. thump………………….thump

“I love you, Bee,” Sam called over the speakers, his last breath gusting through the vents of his adopted brother. 

“Acc….ci…. dent…” Derek slurred, his consciousness wavering. 

Bee growled a sound that would have scared the Pit Maker. With all the contempt he could muster he swung the limp body around and slammed it down on the roof of the Mazda. Derek landed with enough force to rival the impact of a vehicle. An indentation haloed the human’s body as he gave one feeble sputter, blood spraying from his mouth as life escaped his broken shell. Derek’s blood painted the windshield and mingled with the blood of his co-conspirators, forever sealing them in death as it did in life.

Bumblebee’s speakers gave Sam’s voice one final plea before going silent.

“I love you, Bee.”


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

AN: Lots of robot confusion, mixed signals, searching for understanding and spark break. You’ve been warned.

 

O00O0I-00O-O00O-0I0—O-0O0O0-0I00O0-O0-0O0I-0O0-O0-O0-0O0O0-O0-0-I0-0O-0O-0IO-0OOO

 

Bumblebee waited for the emptiness to disappear from his spark, but it still lingered, cold and distant, mocking him in his grief.

The paralyzing agony that had haunted him since his first day of waking now felt dulled, throbbing like a passing ache that Ratchet had partially numbed. 

The cause of the sparkache was now eliminated, so why did Bee still feel that emptiness where his spark resided? Why did he feel so hollow?

When would this nightmare end?

Bumblebee transformed in a daze. His spark sputtered, the pangs giving him horrible pains throughout his chest. It felt like his spark was trying to rip him apart with its fevered attempts to escape. 

He bowed on his tires, feeling a powerful tremor threaten to turn him inside out. He exited the warehouse, his processor buzzing with static. He felt as if he had a swarm of his namesake taking up residence in his frame. The vibrations were intense, causing him to swerve as he headed back to base. Something niggled in his processor, and as he tried to quell the battle between his spark and processor, he heard distant honking. 

With a scream of rubber on asphalt, Bumblebee skidded to a halt. A long streak of double black tire tracks marked his mindless drifting across the highway. Several cars honked and beeped, their drivers yelling at the inconsiderate Camaro.

It was then the full severity of the situation came falling down and covered Bumblebee like a blanket. His frame rattled, unsure what was happening. He was spinning very fast, yet, being held immobile by some unseen force. A cold weight was holding him aloft, his processor surrounded by barbed wire, his spark drenched in an icy frost.

Had he really done it? Had he avenged Sam? Did he correct the guilty parties and ensure they would never offend again? Did he save someone else from losing their loved one? 

Unbidden a noise came out form under his hood. It was muffled, unable to form properly in his vehicular mode. He rocked on his tires, the noises pitching.

Was it … relief? Was the sensation filling as a balloon and pressing outward like Bumblebee was going to explode, the sense of ease after a long straining pain in his spark? Or was it cold isolation, as his spark sent out tendrils, searching for the warm body that usually inhabited the interior and found nothing but emptiness?

Suddenly, Bee could hear Sam’s voice, echoing in his audios. 

“Bee. What did you do? What have you done?”

“Ssssammmm,” Bee whined, using a sound clip of his own voice before it was robbed. He gave a few desperate, child like clicks, feeling like the world was spinning too fast. He felt hot, and cold, distant and yet, suffocated. Happy, yet terrified. Relieved, but burdened with grief. 

What was he to do? What was happening? What were these foreign feelings bombarding his sensors? Why did his spark ache so badly he wanted to rip it from his chest? Why did his processor burn like fire, threatening to melt his internals?

Bee backed up until his bumper touched the guardrail. Cars continued to pass, offering blaring horns that adding to the cacophony in his head. 

He could hear Sam’s voice in his processor, asking the damnable questions over and over again. His spark lurched, searching for the warm presence of his brother that was no longer there. Only a ghost of Sam remained, his life’s blood now pounding through Bumblebee’s lines and made his spark spin in violent protest.

It was a horrible feeling.

One that grew and scratched and fought for release as it clawed its way through your soul. Something to end the torment and make the demons go away. There was no more solace. No more safety and peace. It was all gone. Ripped away so cruelly by an adolescent who didn’t understand the concept of rules and limitations.

A malicious child who had taken away Bee’s little brother.

They may not have entered the world in the same manner, but they were as brothers. Nothing would have ever changed that. And having your brother to die in your interior was enough to crush even the steeliest of psyche.

Bee felt as if the world was lurching forward, his body too leaden to keep up with the motion, causing his vision to warp and distort. 

Who could he turn to? Who could help him?

What Bumblebee really needed was a creator. Someone to hold him and tell him it was going to be okay and that everything will be sorted out, he just needed to stop worrying. But Bumblebee didn’t have a creator. His existence came from the All Spark, and with that now destroyed, whom could he turn to seek comfort?

He couldn’t go to Prime. Prime abhorred violence and after what Bumblebee just did… well, there would be no words of comfort. Ratchet and Ironhide would be in the same mindset. Prowl would want to lecture him and add to the confusion and torment already tearing his mind to shreds. The twins would probably arrange a party, just to spite the command unit. 

So, where could Bumblebee go?

The answer came in the form of Sam’s voice, recorded not long ago. 

“You can always go to mom. No matter what. Mothers can make anything better. It’s ingrained in them I think. Some sort of magic.”

Bee knew that Judy held no such magical properties, but like a child screaming for its creator, he sent an urgent message to the Witwicky home. 

Judy answered the phone to hear a series of clicks and whines, an electronic cry that any mother could identify as a child in distress. 

“Bee? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Judy called into the phone.

The electronic whines continued, the sobs sending the mother into action. “I’m coming to the base. I’ll get there as soon as I can. You hold on, Little Bee! I’m coming!”

Judy slammed down the phone and scribbled out a note to her husband, searching the house for her car keys and using language that would have gotten Sam reprimanded. 

Bee felt something stir in his soul at her words. She had nicknamed him ”Little Bee” because the way his doorwings would flutter when he was excited. Feeling elated that the human female had understood his dilemma, he threw himself into gear and raced toward the base, where a very pissed off looking Prowl greeted him.

The guards at the gate had alerted the senior staff to the return of their youngest, and by the reckless way he was driving, there was something amiss. Ratchet and Ironhide were flanking Prowl as he waited for Bumblebee. 

“Where have you been?” Prowl demanded, his stern face fixated on Bee. 

“You had us worried kid,” Ironhide said, giving the Camaro a relieved look. 

Bumblebee didn’t transform, feeling his chassis shake with uncontrollable grief. He feared it he took bipedal form, he would fall apart, unable to keep cohesion from the tumult inside his spark. The strange sensation filling his spark expanded into a suffocating balloon of conflicting emotions that had no outlet. He felt sick, yet thrilled, and his body was overheating, though his lines ran cold. He shook on his tires, trying to fight down the urge to run. It didn’t matter his destination, just as long as he was in motion. 

“Bee, what’s wrong?” Ratchet asked, his scanners jumping to life and roaming over the yellow frame, pin striping it green. 

Prime exited the main command hanger, the twins tagging along, Sunstreaker looking murderous as always. 

As soon as Bee noticed his leader, he transformed. The action was broken and haphazard, causing Bumblebee to remain kneeling in front of his Prime. The yellow plating rattled like shifting plates during an earthquake. 

Sideswipe made to go to the scout’s side, but Sunstreaker held out his arm, stopping his twin from advancing. Sideswipe looked to his brother with a threatening growl, not understanding why Sunstreaker was keeping him from helping the youngling. But Sunstreaker’s gaze was hardened, his optics dark. He offered a single jerk of his head to stop his brother’s actions. 

Sunstreaker knew that look. He had witnessed it before. It had graced his features on too many occasions to count. It was disconcerting to witness it on someone as young and amicable as Bumblebee. It didn’t seem right.

But it was still present. And no matter how much Sideswipe wished to ease the torment, there wasn’t anything he could do. There was nothing any Autobot could do. This grief stemmed from human origins. And if Sunstreaker’s scanners were correct, Bumblebee’s servos were covered in the aftermath of his spark break. 

Prime knelt in front of Bumblebee, his servos on the scout’s shoulders. Bumblebee kept his head down, his optics fixed upon the stain on his hands though it was difficult to see in the gathering dusk. 

“What has happened?” Prime asked in a hushed voice. 

With a gentle hand, Prime cupped Bee’s cheek, forcing him to look into his optics. When the pale blue shimmer greeted his inquisitive look, Prime felt something deep inside go cold. 

“Primus, kid, what has happened?” Ironhide muttered, staring in disbelief to the immobile youngling he helped raise. 

It wasn’t normal to see Bumblebee so defeated. He was always bouncing around like a ball of energy and warmth, full of so much life, others gravitated to his energy like a lost planet to a welcome sun. 

But not now. 

Now, he sat, slumped and immobile, his optics dulled as he stared into Prime’s caring visage. 

The door opened on the side of the hanger, Will Lennox poking his head around the door to find the assembled bots. Sunstreaker turned, his optics as shining steel.

“This does not concern you, human,” he said in a deep, threatening tone that would have made a regular man wet himself. “This is private.”

Ironhide looked to his human friend, his processor suddenly full of Will’s face frozen in death. What would he do if Will terminated in his interior? Or Annabelle? Primus, he didn’t want to think about it. Ironhide felt his own resolve crumble, realizing he had attached himself to a small organic just like Bumblebee. Though if Ironhide was truthful, it was the smaller version of his friend that held his spark in her tiny human hands.

“Go back inside, Will,” Ironhide said, giving the human a look that clearly stated he needed to listen lest he be a smear on the pavement. 

“Just call…. If you need anything,” Will put in, feeling Sunstreaker’s gaze as a frozen blade. 

“We know,” Ironhide said, motioning for Will to get out of sight as Sunstreaker started to rock in agitation. “We appreciate it.”

“Anything you guys need, just ask,” Will said, taking the bold step as to look directly into Sunstreaker’s face and add, “And I mean, any thing.”

Sunstreaker’s helm canted just slightly as the human shut the door, granting the mechs privacy. 

“Bumblebee, what have you done?” Optimus Prime asked, drawing the frontliner’s attention back to the spark wrenching scene. Prime’s optics had scanned the scout’s frame and focused on the crimson staining his servos.

Bee opened his mouth to speak, but his words were forever robbed from him. With a sigh of defeat, he lowered his optics and sent a data packet that ran like a movie through the assembled mech’s internal HUDs. Everyone instantly recognized the teenagers as the ones who had struck Bumblebee, nearly ending his life.

The teens flashed in various pictures through Bumblebee’s memory like a sputtering movie reel. Unable to perform the damnably simple act of speaking, Bumblebee used his speakers, replaying the evening’s events. The distinct sound of human bones being crushed and the wailing screams of a human in pain filtered through the speakers, the song of anguish accompanied by a steady, beating rhythm. The picture proof of bottled alcohol was repeated with each thump of bass, until the loud reverberations were punctuated by a loud thud of an organic body hitting something metal at high velocity.

A broken, static filled sound clip emanated from Bee’s speakers.

“Justice…. Has been done.”

When silence fell once again, Bumblebee clenched his servos, were the congealed human fluid was turning sticky and tacky in his joints. He extended his servos, accepting his fate. He looked blandly into his leader’s optics and for once, there was nothing but tired defeat reflecting back.

The final act of the raging nova was to offer one last scream from tortured speakers, before falling mute in the cold silence of space. 

 

O00O0I-00O-O00O-0I0—O-0O0O0-0I00O0-O0-0O0I-0O0-O0-O0-0O0O0-O0-0-I0-0O-0O-0IO-0OOO


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

 

Rated T for violence and character death. Don’t like, don’t read. You have been warned. 

And since I forgot earlier to mention it: Plot and all related content are copyrighted to authoress and plagiarism will not be tolerated. Thank you to readers/reviewers who bring things to my attention as I personally do not actively read or patrol fanfiction. 

{{-+-}} {{-+-}} {{-+-}} {{-+-}} {{-+-}}

 

‘Rush hour’ was a false title. The compacted vehicles rarely took an hour to clear from the highway and there was no ‘rushing’ anywhere. But there was definitely traffic. Mind numbing, nerve wracking, endless miles of it. 

Judy Witwicky displayed a rare side of herself in traffic. Against all beliefs, she stared down a fellow commuter and cursed at his insensitivity to the hurry she was in. Deciding against ramming him with her car, she kept applying the horn, which lead to the exchange of fingers and assorted titles. 

Judy may be the fairer sex, but she could hold her own in a verbal sparing match. The man in front of her was easily put in his place as a result of her education. When an opening appeared she could squeeze her car through, she was past his bumper amid further cursing as she escaped the bedlam of the street. 

The next block faired no better. Judy’s only solace was she was alone in the car and there were no screaming toddlers rupturing her eardrums like the poor woman in the left hand lane. Judy gave her a sympathetic look as the woman shouted for quiet in the car and only incited the toddler verbal riot to greater heights. 

An hour later, the traffic thinned as it started to wind through the suburbs and main highways that led to other cities with congestion to rival Tranquility. 

Tranquility. That name was misdirecting.

Two shortcuts and one ran stop sign later, and Judy was on the main road that lead to the area the Autobots were using as their temporary base. When she pulled in front of the guard station, a young man, not much older than Sam had been, stepped out and appraised the matriarch of the Witwicky family. He didn’t get a chance to speak before a full blown mother hen was squawking at him.

“My name is Judy Witwicky,” she said, her voice stern and commanding as she glared at the young man. Traffic had not improved her mood and her parental instincts were demanding she attend the crying youngling that had called for her. “I got a call from Bee to come because he’s in trouble and needs me. Now you have the option of opening this gate and letting me pass or I drive through it. Either way, I’m finding my Bee and helping him.” Her eyes narrowed in that motherly way that made all children quail as her voice dropped to dangerous levels. “What’s it going to be, Young Man?”

“Are the Autobots expecting you?’ the young guardsman squeaked. He was a trained soldier. But he still had a mother and answered to the same ingrain fear that all mothers instill.

“Bumblebee called for me,” Judy reiterated, her knuckles white on the steering wheel.

“I… I mean, the command,” the soldier said, forgetting he was a highly trained officer and carrying a gun. “Does any of the command know you’re coming?”

“I don’t know if Bee told Optimus or not,” Judy admitted, but her eyes narrowed. “But he needs me, so open this gate or I’ll drive through it.”

“You know the Prime?” the guard asked, finding it odd that a suburban housewife was on a first name basis with the alien leader.

“Optimus has trashed my flower beds and knows I’ll kick his ass if he interferes, you can ask if I’m cleared.” Judy said, giving the engine a rev in her impatience.

“Yes ma’am, I’ll get you clearance,” the you man said, grabbing a small radio from his hip and clicking the button before speaking. “Sir, there’s a Judy Witwicky who claims she was notified to come here.”

“Let her through,” came the gruff voice of Lennox. He had an inkling to Judy’s arrival. 

With a nod the guard hit a button and the gate swung open, allowing access. Judy glared as she passed, then focused on the moving black 25 foot tall robot who was walking in front of a large building. She pulled up, parking sideways and yelled to the large mechanical being. 

“Where’s my Bee?” Judy demanded, slamming her door so hard the vehicle rocked. She stormed toward Ironhide like the bringer of death and snapped that accusing finger to his direction. “Tell me, Ironhide, where’s my little Bee?”

“He’s in the brig,” Ironhide said, feeling minute under the woman’s gaze. And he towered over her a good twenty feet! He nodded to the building he had exited upon her arrival.

“I want to see him,” Judy said, more of a command than a request. She spun on her heel and marched toward the indicated building. 

Ironhide opened a comm. ‘Uhh… Prime? Judy Witwicky is here demanding to see Bee.’

‘I don’t know if it would be wise for her to see him,’ Prime said. ‘The emotional state he’s in may cause further pain upon seeing his friends’ creator.’

‘I don’t think we have a choice,’ Ironhide said, watching as the woman stomped toward the building and was greeted by two young military men. Both halted her progress before jumping aside as she barked at them. The two men exchanged looks before hurrying along their way. They were not going to cross the woman. They knew better. 

‘Prowl and I hear her coming,’ Prime said. ‘We will deal with the issue.’

‘Better you than me,’ Ironhide said, cutting the transmission. 

Judy didn’t know where she was going, but something directed her footsteps. She entered the dark building without hesitation and stormed down the narrow hall. Voices drew her attention to the left and like a woman possessed, she turned the corner and found Prime talking to a smaller bot with black and white plating.

“Optimus! Where’s my Bee?” Judy demanded, ignoring the other bot and giving the flamed leader a death glare. “He called for me. I want to see him!”

“I don’t believe that is a wise move,” Prowl said, giving Optimus a neutral look. He didn’t understand why his leader allowed a small organic human to be so forward with him. He was the Prime. His title demanded respect and reverence. Surely the humans had such an understanding? “The human is irrational and may provoke further discord to Bumblebee’s troubled emotions.”

“You try to keep me from him and I will twist that stick up your ass so hard you’ll pick up NASA transmissions!” Judy barked before spinning to look at Prime, that commanding finger pointed right at his optics. “Bee called for me. He’s in pain and I can help.”

“Prime, there has been a development,” Prowl said getting his leader’s attention. He canted his helm, deciphering the chatter over the human airwaves. “The police have found the three males who had crashed into Bumblebee in a warehouse in the factory district. All three were mutilated and pronounced dead on the scene.”

“What?” Judy gasped. She didn’t know the reason why she was summoned by Bumblebee, just that he needed her and traffic had delayed her for over an hour. Now she realized why the Autobot had called out to her.

“Witnesses report a yellow Camaro leaving the area,” Prowl said, hearing the overlapping of voices from the multitude of law enforcement. “I fear they will mobilize their officials and seek their retribution on all of us. We need a defensive strategy.”

“Oh, my little Bee,” Judy muttered in a whisper. She couldn’t see into the cell but she knew he was behind the heavy metal door. Her hands covered her mouth as she stared at the door, her imagination painting a picture for her. 

“He had recounted his revenge and his servos are still stained with the blood of the three human males,” Prowl continued, giving the human a look as he explained the situation. If Prime granted her access to Bumblebee, she needed to have the full picture of the horrendous atrocities he committed. “There will be a police investigation and I believe the government officials who granted us asylum will become involved. This is dangerous ground, for all of us.”

“We need to take care of this situation before it gets out of hand.” Prime agreed. “Prowl, I need you to coordinate with the local law enforcement and assure them that this incident was not sanctioned and will be dealt with.”

“I do not believe the humans will be so readily pacified,” Prowl said, already finding over a hundred flaws with Prime’s strategy. “With the loss of our military backing in this civil matter, we will be vulnerable to the humans in many aspects.”

“I am aware and I will deal with it,” Prime said, feeling a sickening sensation settle in his tank. The very idea of deciding the fate of his youngest soldier was gnawing away at his internals. Before Prowl could open his mouth to argue, Prime added, “Keep me apprised. Dismissed.”

Prowl scowled at the dismissal but nodded in respect and took his leave. 

“Optimus?” Judy asked in a timid voice that was a drastic change to the commanding, mother tone she usually employed. “Did Bee really kill those three boys? The ones that hit him and killed my Sammy?”

Prime knelt in front of the woman, finding her human frame to be trembling. The gravity of the situation was sinking into her brain and making her emotions erupt in answer.

“I am afraid to report that Bumblebee did attack the three males who crashed into him,” Prime said, finding an overwhelming urge to consol the woman as she sniffled, her eyes rimming in red as her own grief surfaced. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like, losing a child. Then again, with his current situation, he had a feeling he knew what Sam’s parents had felt when they received the news. He wondered if Judy understood the position he was in. 

Did she understand his dilemma? Did she know that Bumblebee committed a crime that warranted his execution in both human and Cybertronian culture? Did she not realize that Bee’s life was now held in Prime’s hands? That Optimus would have to give the command to have the last child blessed by the All Spark, to be terminated? 

“Sammy loved him,” Judy said in a soft tone, tears spilling down her cheeks. “And the only way I can get through the day is to believe that Bumblebee was there for him, when he needed him to be. I know Bee was with him and that my Sammy didn’t die alone. He was with someone he loved, and he didn’t….die…. alone… in the dark.”

Prime didn’t have the spark to tell the woman that Bumblebee had been disabled. A small part of him wondered if Sam was comforted during his final moments, but Bumblebee never shared what happened that fateful night. Prime wanted to believe that Bee had raged so violently, his injuries were exacerbated and that lead to his extensive rehabilitation. But without Bee’s confirmation, no one truly knew what transpired that night under a broken street lamp in the suburbs. 

“Ron blames you for Sammy’s death,” Judy said, pulling herself together and giving Prime an unsteady look. “But I know that Bee would have never sacrificed Sam to save himself.”

“Bumblebee would never do such a thing,” Prime said, remorse coloring his voice.

“I know,” Judy whispered. “I don’t blame you and I don’t blame Bee. Ron will see that when grief no longer clouds his judgment. He’ll come to realize how much Bee loved Sam and how much Sammy loved his little Camaro.”

Prime allowed a bittersweet smile. They were two cultures, species, and worlds apart. But they were still united together in bonds of brotherhood. 

“Now, I want to see my little Bee,” Judy said, looking to the door in expectation. “He called out to me and I want to help him.”

“Then I believe Bumblebee is expecting you,” Prime said, opening the door to allow the woman entry. “I will post a guard outside the door in case you need anything.”

“That would be appreciated,” Judy said as she crossed the threshold. 

Prime watched in fascination as Bumblebee’s helm jerked up upon hearing Judy’s voice. As she walked toward him, Bee slid from the plain berth onto the floor, a soft clicking coming from him as his optics dimmed in sorrow. 

It was so strange, watching the youngling he help raise fall so helpless to the floor in surrender when his normal reaction was to fling himself into Prime’s arms and grieve the pain away. Now, Bee didn’t recognize Prime’s presence, nor sought it in this time of crisis. Instead, he withered on the floor and allowed an organic female to soothe his suffering. 

Prime felt his spark ache, threatening to dislodge from its place and call out to the last child of his race. Needing his own space and time to think, Prime closed the door until it was cracked and opened a comms.

‘Prime to Sunstreaker.’

‘What?’

Prime ignored the blatant disregard to the command chain and continued, ‘Judy Witwicky will be staying with Bumblebee for an unknown time. Please guard the door and make sure that she gets everything she needs while visiting.’

‘Do I have to?’

‘Yes, no arguments.’ Prime shook his head at the callousness of his soldier. Sunstreaker didn’t have the spark for such sentimentality. ‘You are to treat her as an honored guest and refrain from threatening her in any way.’

‘Take the fun out of it.’ Sunstreaker grumbled, walking to the brig where he was normally a guest.

‘If she reports any attitude on your behalf, be rest assured I will deal with you myself,’ Prime said, feeling anger rise up in him for some unknown well. He suddenly felt overheated and wanting to put his fist through something, preferably metal.

‘Understood,’ Sunstreaker said, knowing that when Prime took that tone, he was near his limit on the backtalk and insubordination.

‘Just…. watch over them, Sunstreaker,’ Prime said, feeling a heaviness settle on his back and threaten to compress his frame.

Feeling the full weight behind the unspoken request, Sunstreaker gave a nod no one could see and took up position outside of the door. He may not have met the young human who touched so many lives, but he was starting to understand the deep impact he had with those who knew him. Sunstreaker couldn’t stop eavesdropping when he heard the soft clicking cries of a youngling in distress. His own resolve crumbled just a little, and with a heavy spark, he listened to the human female consol the grieving spirit with a gentleness the golden mech had never before experienced. 

For the first time in a long time, Sunstreaker felt his own spark thaw and shatter, sharing in the sorrow of losing something so precious.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ron, 

Bee called. He’s in trouble. I’ll be back later. 

Judy

Ron Witwicky read over the note his wife scribbled several times, his eyes having a hard time focusing on the words. How could she go and be with those…those… murderers? 

How could she still think of the car… and Ron refused to call the Autobot by his name… How could she stand looking at the car that Ron had bought for their son? How could she look upon him and not see their son’s face? 

That car was supposed to protect him. The car, his guardian, had betrayed him. A small part of Ron felt betrayed. His wife had upheld his decision to cut all ties with the aliens who ended his son’s life. So, why had Judy went against his wishes now? She understood the necessity for distance, knowing Ron didn’t trust himself being around the robotic aliens that his son had put his misplaced trust into. He had been surprised when they honored his request and remained distant. Even the military personnel were keeping their distance.

So why did Judy jump to answer the call of the one who allowed Sam to perish? Why did she still answer his call? Why didn’t she break all contact with the aliens that were responsible for the tragedy? Did she forgive them?

Ron didn’t understand. His eyes clouded with grief, the words blurring on the page as he allowed the tears to fall. The words faded with the falling tears. 

How could Judy stand to look at the beings that had ended their son’s life? Did she forgive their ineptitude? Why had she raced to answer their summons and forego her husband’s adamant declaration?

Ron cried to the empty house, finding the silence to be far too loud without Sam’s constant need for stereos and tvs turned on high to hear their broadcasts from any room. 

As Ron fought his demons, Optimus Prime was struggling against his own. Their main form happened to be in the shape of his Second in Command. 

Prowl was adamant about making the first move to insure a continued alliance with the humans. The local police were still in the dark to their alien allies, but the Chief of Police was aware, and Prowl had woken the man up to inform him of the tenuous situation. To make matters worse, one of the military personnel, and they had yet to find out who, had alerted the President and his cabinet to the attack. Secretary Keller informed the Autobot base that he would be arriving by eight am and he wanted a quick resolution to this disaster. 

So with local, state, and now federal involvement, Prime was looking for an answer to a question he didn’t want asked. Thankfully, Prowl was adept at assuming the question and posing possible strategic countermoves. 

Prowl had valid points, as always. His logical mind could dissect any situation and give both pros and cons, and give an impartial answer to any question. Emotions didn’t fit into his processing. 

But they did for Prime. He was ruled by his emotions, and though he tried to distance himself from the situation and attack it with a clinical view, there was no getting around the heart of the subject.

Bumblebee had admitted to killing three teenage humans. He showed no emotional response to such a thing, other than a hollow look to his optics and a defeated posture. He refused comfort from any of his teammates and the aged caregivers he had known since infancy. The only one he allowed in his cell was Judy, and she had immediately flown to the scout’s side. Her presence gave Bumblebee some amount of solace. 

The problem facing Prime now was, where does he go from here?

It was obvious Bee was suffering from a deep emotional pain, but could that pain cancel the complete disregard and callous termination of three humans? Prime was hesitant to refer to them as ‘innocent’, knowing the full extent of their history and had witnessed the damage they could inflict first hand. But they had taken their human assigned punishment and were still serving that sentence. 

Weren’t they?

“You need to make a decision,” Prowl reiterated. He was standing in front of Prime as he sat at his desk, his posture as rigid as ever. “The humans are assembling their advocates. Secretary Keller will be here tomorrow morning at eight and it would be prudent to have a decision already made and not allow the humans to make it for you.”

“I just don’t see a way out of this,” Prime said, looking with helpless optics to the ceiling as if the answer was engraved among the framework. ”Bee is the last of our kind. We are a dying race. How can I order his termination for such a crime when we are all that is left?”

“We share common laws with the humans,” Prowl put in, hoping to help ease his leader’s processor Apparently his efforts were fruitless. “They are simple and have supported our culture for vorns without fail.”

“But allowances must be made for emotional and psychological trauma, and circumstances have changed that must be taken into account,” Prime said, casting his gaze down from heavens and looking at Prowl. “I can’t condemn a youngling.”

“You know I don’t wish Bee to terminate,” Prowl said, trying and failing to look emotive. “But I fear the repercussions from the humans when they realize we refuse to punish one of our own.” 

Prowl waited a moment, looking into his leader’s, his friend’s, optics before adding,. “They may seek their own retribution in any manner of ways. The humans aren’t noted for their understanding and compassion. They are a brutal, violent race and I fear not only their trust, but their amicable benevolence will be broken. We all are in danger because of this misdeed.”

Prime nodded, closing his optics as if trying to hide from the problem. Primus, he never wanted to make such a choice. Why did this have to be? Why did fate play such a cruel hand?

“I know you wish to instill a camaraderie with the humans, and do not wish them harmed,” Prowl said, fighting down the urge to purge his tanks. His absorption relays were making a strange taste appear along his analytical sensors. “If you refuse to enact justice, then I fear the humans will demand recompense in the form of Bee’s termination, and take the choice from us.”

Prime nodded, keeping his optics closed as if the answer would appear in a vision. 

“We have a tedious alliance with the humans,” Prowl ploughed on. “They are always mistrusting of us and have expressed great concern and displeasure over our reluctance to turn over technology to them.”

Prime remained statuesque, his processor working at speeds to rival Prowl’s battle computer. But it still wasn’t enough. He didn’t know what to do. He was slagged either way.

“There is always…” Prowl said his voice dropping to a soft mutter. “The Prima initiative.”

“No, I will not have Bumblebee put into hibernative stasis. He has suffered enough spark ache and trauma. I will not add to it by forcing him into an endless void of mental imprisonment.”

“The humans arrive tomorrow at eight,” Prowl said, finding his tanks churning at the thought. It was a minefield in every aspect. How could the Autobots escape with the least amount of damage? One thing came to processor. Though Prowl was loathe to admit it, and that nasty stinging tang appeared in his tanks again, but there was another alternative.

“If you are unable to reach a verdict, then as the Second in Command, I have it in my authority to take the responsibility and make the decision,” Prowl said.

Prime opened his optics. The hurt and was only overshadowed pain and fear at such a proclamation. 

This was no win situation.

Prime knew Prowl was right. As the SIC he had the authority to relieve Prime of burdens, especially when they related to the discipline of his troops. 

“To give your spark peace, I will take the burden of this decision for you,” Prowl said, finding his spinal strut to feel very malleable. Not to mention his tanks were ready to empty. And that strange, foul tang that made him recoil inside.

Primus, is this what the Prime was feeling? It wasn’t a pleasant sensation. 

“I appreciate the offer, but it is as you said,” Prime said, resting his arms on his desk and steepling his fingers together. “This is my decision and I will have it by the dawn.” He nodded toward the open door and added, “Dismissed.”

Prowl offered a nod of respect before taking his leave. With heaviness in his pedes, Prowl went to his quarters, hoping to get a few hours charge and let his battle computer rework the computations and maybe, just maybe, make the churning tank and pounding ache in his chest subside. He lay on his berth, staring at the dark ceiling, knowing that tomorrow, he may have to support his leader and say the words that would end a young life.

Time ticked by slowly, the internal chronometer malfunctioning and crawling by at a snail’s pace. Prowl checked the time six times, finding barely a few moments had passed since his last inquiry.

The ticking continued, mocking and getting louder in the silence. Prowl wondered why he never before noticed the volume of passing time, and as he tried to understand his own train of thought, his tanks rebelled. With a violent upheaval he purged what little fuel he had, his frame shaking with the exertion. 

When the dry heaving had ran its course, Prowl fell back against his berth, feeling drained and dizzy. He ran a diagnostic and was shocked to find his systems were operating within normal, strict parameters. Had it been bad fuel, it would have reacted within minutes of hitting his tank and relays. Since most had been absorbed, Prowl concluded it wasn’t the fuel.

Thinking a virus had infiltrated his firewalls, he ran a diagnostic. To his surprise, he was operating at top efficiency. 

A quick check on the time showed that he had only been in his quarters for an Earth hour. 

So, why did it feel longer than that?

And Primus, why did his chassis hurt so badly?


	18. Chapter Eighteen

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

 

{{-O-}}{{-O-}}{{-O-}}{{-O-}}{{-O-}}{{-O-}}{{-O-}}{{-O-}}{{-O-}}

 

Sunstreaker glanced inside the cell to the captive, though he knew Bumblebee would never attempt an escape. Bee hadn’t moved since he went willingly into the cell and sat staring blankly ahead. Ratchet had checked him over several times and found no structural or programming glitches. Sunstreaker knew Ratchet wouldn’t. 

Bumblebee wasn’t physically disabled, he was emotionally shattered. Such a thing was common in the gladiator pits. In Sunstreaker’s experience, there was a slim chance at recovery from such devastation. But no matter the circumstance, Sunstreaker had every intention of keeping Bumblebee alive, regardless of what the command element decided. 

Bumblebee would be safe. Sunstreaker would see to that. He would get the peace his spark desired to allow him the chance to heal. It wasn’t much of a promise, seeing how Bumblebee could still wither and extinguish. But Sunstreaker would give the other yellow mech the opportunity, even if Prime did not. 

He couldn’t fathom the strange bond Bumblebee shared with the small organic, but Sunstreaker could understand how one could become so attached they’d be lost if something precious was ripped from them. Sunstreaker had nearly suffered that fate himself. It was only a miracle that both twins had survived the living Pit, Sideswipe’s presence keeping Sunstreaker mostly sane and still functioning. The darkest moments of the gladiatorial life still haunted him in restful times. 

Sunstreaker could understand the need to be around someone comforting and protecting, though it was usually himself that others came to for such solace. He was as tough as they come and even the slowest of processor knew he could defend them if the situation arose. 

So why didn’t Bumblebee trust him?

Why did Bumblebee refuse any gestures of comfort from his friends and allies? His own race? But yet, he melted into a puddle of spare parts for a human? How is it, this female, Judy, could consol Bumblebee in a way that no other could?

Judy had shared a parental bond with Sam. Sam shared a bond with Bumblebee. So how did the two bonds intersect? Were they able to transfer on some sort of emotional level that couldn’t be perceived or recorded? How could a human with no physical ties to an alien being, feel the need to nurture a youngling in distress? 

Sunstreaker tilted his helm slightly, listening to the woman speak with affection toward Bumblebee. It was inconceivable to Sunstreaker how she could comfort the tortured mech. A quick internet search discovered the rare phenomena to the Cybertronian thought process called a ‘surrogate mother.’ It was strange witnessing such an unimaginable thing happening inside the cell he was guarding, but according to his searches, Judy Witwicky was able to consol Bumblebee’s tortured processor. She was a ‘mother’, and Bumblebee was a child who needed her tender affections. Both assumed these roles as if they were natural.

Such a thing was unheard of in all of recorded Cybertronian history. 

An organic simply did not coddle and soothe a metallic giant who chirped in an electronic language. They were incompatible, in all aspects. There was no possible way for both to find such a close bond when they were literally, in every aspect, worlds apart.

But Judy seemed to assume a caregiver role with a natural grace. Perhaps it was an ingrain programming in the organic make up?

Sunstreaker glanced inside the cell to see the human mother standing in front of Bumblebee’s slouched form where he leaned with his back against the berth. Bee’s gaze cantered the woman, a low pitched whine coming from deep within his soul. Sunstreaker felt his own resolve crumble. He lowered his audial attunement and turned his back to the door, standing guard at the entrance to a personal hell. 

Judy waited until Bumblebee acknowledged her before approaching. If he was in pain, she didn’t want to cause further harm by rushing to him and damaging his systems. He was a giant metal being, but he still had his vulnerabilities. 

“Bumblebee?” Judy asked in a soft voice, her eyes shining with tears at the broken, dejected yellow bot in front of her. “Did you go after the boys that took our Sammy?”

Bee gave a single nod, a series of clicks sounding like a machine ticking over. 

“Oh, my Little Bee,” Judy said, going to the mech’s side and laying her hands on his much larger, blood stained servo. “Why did you do it?”

 

Bumblebee shook his helm in slow motion, the action causing his joints to give creaks under the strain. Unable to form the words or show his pseudo-creator his remorse, he garbled together several sound clips to piece together his answer.

“It was necessary…. For… my brother.”

Judy smiled, a tear running down her cheek, betraying her emotions. “He loved you, Bumblebee. But, he wouldn’t have wanted…. this.”

“What’s done is done,” Bee’s speakers said, the voice changing between sound bytes. “All I want is peace.”

“Oh, my little Bee,” Judy whispered. She placed her hands on his grill directly over his spark. She could feel the pulse of his life under the dull, dingy coloring. The plating always shone so bright and clear, a perfect image of a happy Bumblebee. But now, it was faded, its coloring as pale as its owner’s soul. 

“Make it stop,” Bee whined, feeling the heat of the woman’s hand along his sensors. She was just like Sam. All warm and caring and alive. 

Judy rested her head against the warm chassis, just as Sam used to do. A soft electronic whine reached for her, calling to her in a language that spanned space and species. Judy’s arms opened, tightening her hold on Bumblebee’s upper body, her cheek pressed against the plating protecting his spark. 

Bee gained Judy’s attention and gently withdrew her from her embrace and with deliberate slowness, opened his chest plates. In slow motion the golden grill parted, revealing the silver cylinder that housed his spark. A rattling intake interrupted the silence as he gave the command to open the chamber, bathing the woman with the flickering light of his spark. 

“Oh, Bee,” Judy whispered, staring into the pulsing light. She knew the spark was a Cybertronian’s soul. Sam had explained it one night as the family sat in the garage and welcomed Bumblebee into their family unit. It both humbled and scared Judy to see something so sacred. It proved just how close Bumblebee held his adoptive family, sharing his very life force with those he loved and trusted the most. “It’s beautiful, Bumblebee.”

Bee shook his head, his servo slipped behind the woman’s back and pulled her closer to him. His spark sputtered, flashing several shades of color across her pale flesh. A soft chirping cry filled the silence as the myriad of color cast his adopted creator in his life force.

Judy knew she was being granted something sacred. She touched the edges of the parted plates, her hands shaking so hard she thought she’d damage the delicate circuitry now revealed. The yellow plating beneath her hands heaved in sobs, electronic whimper’s escaping in a sad song. With resolve, Judy pressed on the serried plates, trying to shove them together with her bony fingers in a wordless command to protect the precious life. 

“It’s okay, Bee. You don’t have to worry. There is nothing ugly about your beautiful, little spark,” she said, finding it hard to move the plates. After a minute of effort, Bee relented to the woman and returned his life force to the safety of its chamber. 

Bumblebee’s expression was searching, silently pleading with the woman in a language where words weren’t necessary. But Judy understood him nonetheless.

“I know you loved him, and he loved you,” Judy said, tears running down her cheeks as she pressed against the golden plating in soothing strokes. “He wouldn’t have wanted you to suffer like this.”

“I do,” Bee chirped through his speakers. A soft whine emanated from him again as he staring imploringly into the optics of his brother’s creator. 

Judy shared Sam’s eyes. The same contour and color. It was like Sam was reflected back in his creator, smiling at his Cybertronian brethren in the teenager’s goofy, lopsided way. 

Judy’s gaze traveled over Bumblebee’s face, taking in the many plates and seams that made up a Cybertronian’s face, and in turn, their vast, human-like expressions. They really weren’t so different.

“Just… stay with me… for a little while,” Bumblebee pleaded, his speakers filled with static.

Judy nodded solemnly, her face wet with tears. She stepped aside, allowing Bumblebee room to move. He lay down on his side, his body creaking with the motion. Judy waited until he was comfortable and stepped to his helm. Now that he was within reach, he didn’t seem so large and imposing. Now he just seemed to be a child, seeking comfort for an ache that had no name. She brushed her fingers over his audios, across his forehead and along the crown of his helm. It was the same thing she used to do to Sam when he was sick and she stayed up all night at his bedside.

Bumblebee gave a shudder, his systems grinding, fighting the relaxing touch of the adoptive mother. A soft electronic warble escaped prompting Judy to kiss along the cheek plate and make soft shushing noises.

“It’s going to be okay, Bee,” Judy whispered, stroking along the warm cheek plates. “Just, close your eyes and when you wake up, everything will be better. I promise.”

A soft whine was her answer. The frame trembled under her ministrations as she continued to caress along his face in tender, motherly affection. Her actions were slow, methodical, intent on lulling the grieving spark in a deep, restful peace.

“Shhhh,” Judy whispered, providing the comfort she could to a lost child who had no one to ease his suffering. “It’s okay, Bee. Everything will be better when you wake up. I promise. Just… close your eyes and get some rest. It’s going to be alright.”

She caressed along his jaw, feeling the tension melt away. The rattling systems slowly gave way to a gentle hum. She could no longer do this for her own child, so she was going to make sure she showed Bee the exact level of care and affection she would as if Bumblebee was her own creation. Such feelings didn’t make the pain go away, but it made it a lot more tolerable to the still grieving mother.

“Go to sleep…. go to sleep my little Camaro,” Judy sung softly, her hands soothing over the taut features. She wished she would have remembered to bring the giant blanket she had sewn for the Camaro for when he stayed in the garage. She had thought it rather cold in the evenings and believed the Camaro needed the bedding to be comfortable in the drafty garage.

Bumblebee was insulated against the elements, but he had come to love the soft fabric resting over his hood as he charged. It was very soothing. And it was nice to receive the soft kiss the woman planted on his hood and her murmurs of sweet dreams as she ‘tucked’ in the Camaro at night. He had come to expect such treatment, his spark always singing in happiness when he prepared to shut down his systems for a night’s charge.

Bee relaxed into her touch, allowing Judy’s voice to drift into his audios and travel to his spark, wrapping it in warmth and affection. Her voice was the same that had soothed Sam in his time of suffering, whether by childhood ailment or emotional backlash from a maturing, emotional teenager. 

Judy hummed a lullaby, listening as the rattling and coughing of stressing systems as Bumblebee slowly quieted, his systems turning out a dull hum that matched her voice. A low electronic whimper escaped as slumber claimed the suffering youngling. 

Judy watched the slumbering Camaro for a moment before planting a soft kiss to his cheek, her hand tracing along the living metal. She wiped her face dry with the back of her bony hands and settled herself against his chassis, staring into his serene face. She wasn’t going to leave him. She couldn’t. He needed her. And though she couldn’t quite explain it, she needed him. And just like when Sam was sick, he needed his mother to keep vigil over his dreams, and she had no intention of letting Bumblebee down.

She curled against the warm body, her own eyes drifting closed as the past few hours caught up with her exhausted mind. 

The dawn bloomed on the horizon, signaling a new day. But neither of the cell occupants realized the phenomena. 

Sunstreaker took the chance to glance inside the cell and saw the human woman curled up against Bumblebee’s yellow chassis, her head resting against the metal above his spark chamber. The indefinable bond between the two was still a mystery to the golden frontliner, but he didn’t have to understand it. As long as the two slumbering on the floor felt and shared the connection, then that was good enough for Sunstreaker. He returned to his duty, guarding the two that slept in peace in a dark cell. 

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	19. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

AN: Didn’t want to bore everyone with a lot of technical, legal jargon, so I limited this little exchange so I can focus on the body of the story. I tried to make this a little more confrontational, but it just wouldn’t translate into the shouting match I wanted to portray. I couldn’t see Keller or Lennox demanding Bumblebee’s termination.

 

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‘Prime, Secretary Keller is en route,’ Prowl reported. 

Prime jerked at the sound of Prowl’s voice; his optics shuttering in an attempt to throw off his fatigue. He got up from his desk, hearing the symphony of hisses and groans from his weary body. A vile, acidic taste boiled in his throat, his tank threatening to rebel though he was on empty. His limbs felt leaden, the world spinning too fast. As he walked, he wondered if the Earth had increased its magnetic field, for the heaviness of his step was threatening to send him through the mantel. 

Prowl was waiting outside the command center, a forced rigidity to his doorwings. Several military personal, including Captain Lennox were stationed behind Prowl to welcome the secretary of defense. Lennox and a couple of his soldiers were talking with the chief of police who had arrived a moment before. He was aware of the Cybertronians, his division spending a drastic amount of time chasing after a Corvette and Lamborghini that kept the asphalt hot. 

Prime gained Prowl’s side just as the military transport hissed open, expelling Secretary of Defense Keller onto the tarmac. When the elderly man approached, Lennox and his men snapped to instant attention, which Keller waved away, centering his attention on the looming figure that towered above the men. 

“Prime, I hope we can settle this matter quickly,” Keller said, forgoing pleasantries.

Optima gave a nod. “We are of the same thought process.” 

“Good,” Keller said, looking to the gentleman approximately ten years his junior, his sight easily finding the emblem for the constabulary upon the man’s uniform. “Good to see you have the local law enforcement involved as well.”

“We do not wish to appear unconcerned about your own law,” Prime said, motioning to the large hanger door. 

Keller joined the chief of police, who gave a nod to respect to the Secretary and his two flanking aides. Captain Lennox lead the way inside and to a large table upon a dais where the two cultures could exchange conversation at a more comfortable level. The humans arranged themselves around a polished table, Prime and Prowl mirroring their actions, though they remained standing as the humans settled themselves and looked up into the optics of their hosts. The dais afforded extra height, making the conference group approximately chest high to a Cybertronian. 

“Rest assured, if a consensus isn’t reached, I have orders that this is to be resolved,” Keller said, not wasting any time. He had other duties to perform and sitting around arguing with a bunch of people was not high on his list of priorities right now. The man was strict, by the book, and direct. 

Prowl respected that. 

Prime felt uncertainty burn along his relays. He had foreseen a possible hostile, temper tantrum throwing human representative, or a passive, aggressive stance in which all decision was removed from his servos and granted to the human hosts. He may not have Prowl’s battle computer, but he had ran several scenarios. None of them were scratching the surface to what bubbled beneath the surface. Prime felt himself threaten to lock up, unsure how to proceed. 

Prowl took the reigns.

“First I believe it prudent to look at the facts and then state the statute that each culture sees fit to bestow on the guilty party,” Prowl said. He had already made up his processor when he begrudgingly got up this morning. Less than four hours of charge had left him feeling drained and weary, his frame feeling antiquated and unkempt, though he knew it to be otherwise. Perhaps he was suffering from a structural malady? He’d have to have Ratchet to examine him later. 

As if on cue, Ratchet and Ironhide entered the far side of the hanger and joined the group. 

“I have assurances from the president that whatever suitable decision you reach, as long as it’s agreed up on by all parties, will be upheld,” Keller said.

The chief of police looked over to the flamed Leader of the aliens and felt his pulse quicken. He couldn’t believe he was in the middle of a conference with aliens and the secretary of defense! It felt surreal. The only thing keeping him from speaking like an idiot with hero worship was the fact that the three parties had met to discuss the fate of one of the aliens. 

“If I may?” Prowl asked, looking between Optimus and the three representative. 

Will Lennox gave a nod to the other two humans, feeling his loyalties split. He knew Bumblebee was suffering from a severe emotional breakdown. He had seen such things happen before with soldiers in the field. It was disheartening that it could be experienced by giant mechanical robots from another planet. 

Or perhaps it was a good thing. Maybe it was good that the soldier under stood the mental anguish. That humans had experienced what the Autobot was enduring. It could bring the species together. Or it could rip them apart and cause further strife to the Autobots if they were force to leave earthen shores. 

“Go ahead,” The chief said, finding it to be just a tad intimidating to see the giant beings standing around them as if blocking an escape attempt. He quelled that feeling, knowing the Autobots weren’t ones to rush to such scary and violent actions. Of course with one of their own now currently facing horrible crimes, they may decide to close ranks. Which means the humans standing in their midst could get squashed. 

“Very well,” Prowl said with a nod. “Then to understand the full spectrum of events, we must start at the beginning.”

‘Easy on the details,’ Prime instructed over comms. 

“Approximately three months ago, three human teenagers, Derek and Ambrose Grayson and Aaron Adams, committed a serious crime by illegally consuming alcohol and operating a vehicle while intoxicated. Subsequently, they crashed into Bumblebee and killed his human passenger. Bumblebee sustained severe injuries that nearly ended his life and only after eleven weeks of extensive repairs and intensive rehabilitation, he was able to return from his coma like sleep.”

Prime was glad Prowl was keeping it simple and incorporating terms for the humans to understand the nature of the crime and the extent of the damage.

“A teenage human by the name of Samuel Witwicky, whom Bumblebee was assigned as the boy’s guardian, was terminated. When told of his charges demise Bumblebee withdrew, keeping himself from others. He was in mourning and we respected his wishes for privacy. However upon connecting with his mind, I was able to sense the anguish and pain Bumblebee was experiencing from the break of what you may recognize as a ‘brother bond’. I am sure those who serve in a military capacity may understand the close, binding ties that develops during hostile, life threatening encounters.” 

Prime remained silent, giving Prowl time to formulate the best possible explanation so the humans would know the extent of what was lost when one little human being had been taken away from those who cared for him.

All three human representatives gave a nod. They understood what it was like, having such a tying bind to someone who would protect your back as you protected them.

The Secretary of Defense chanced a look at Lennox, noting the usually stoic man was saddened, his gaze distant, his shoulders slumped forward slightly. An air of defeat hung about him, making him look gray and withered. It was obvious that the Captain had a bond with the metal giants and was contemplating such a personal loss. 

“Bumblebee was able to view the burial for his friend and upon his discharge from medical care, he followed the three young humans with the intent to ensure their safety.” Prowl’s voice was strong, belaying the sickness that threatened to empty his tank. He allowed his words to sink in before he continued. “During this surveillance, he witnessed them once again performing the very thing that had nearly terminated him and caused his young charge to be killed. Alcohol was being consumed, potentially placing other innocent lives at risk. Unable to think clearly due to grief, Bumblebee attacked these three humans.”

“I’ll say,” The chief said, earning a look from the assembled group. He shrunk back a little from the looks and added, “Have you seen the pictures? The boys were mutilated.”

“Though having had his voice removed from him from the trauma of the inciting accident, Bumblebee had recounted his experience and replayed the audio of his actions.” Prowl said, his tone as always clipped and professional.

“Is he sorry for what he did?” Keller asked. He had four grandchildren. He could only imagine what would happen if something happened to them. He’d probably go crazy. It was easy to sit in judgment from a distance. To say one thing or another with a detached perspective. It was something else entirely to live through the experience and suffer the ordeal and live the rest of you life with that horrible thing hanging from your conscious. Tragedy is better viewed with binoculars, for no one wants to witness or suffer the terrible things up close and personal. 

“He has withdrawn,” Ratchet said, getting the attention. “He refuses to speak or acknowledge any one of us. He just sits, staring, looking like an empty shell with no life.”

Prowl gave a nod of the assessment and added, “Do you require me to state the punishment statuettes for human law regarding this form of crime?”

“No thanks,” The chief said, looking to Keller who copied the sentiment. 

“Very well,” Prowl said, looking to Prime. “I believe an explanation of Cybertronian law may be in order.”

Prime knew where Prowl was going. He turned tired, dulled optics to the humans clustered in the middle of Cybertronian bodies. He didn’t realize they were effectively boxing in the humans. What it must be like, having to fear being stepped on by a creature so vastly different in size.

“As Prime it is my duty to ensure the safely of my people,” Prime started, feeling the matrix give an uncomfortable twist at his words. “In our culture, to needlessly end a life when an alternative could be met is an inexcusable offence. One that is punishable by termination.”

“What are you saying?” Keller asked, looking to Prime with a stern expression. “Do you mean, killing one of your own for committing murder?”

“Our law dictates that if one takes an innocent life, then their own is forfeit.” Prime said, wanting to purge the emptiness of his tank.

“That’s bullshit,” Keller said, giving Prime a dirty look. “Your soldier is just a kid, according to what I’ve read on your race.”

“You read the docket?” Ratchet asked, astounded the human would use the reference material.

“Well I can’t say I understand all of it, but I know a good part of it,” Keller admitted. He had found the briefs supplied by the aliens to be very informative. He felt like he was traveling to a new world just by learning some of their culture. And from what he remembered, their lives were from the All Spark, which was now destroyed. It’s not like they could repopulate their world with the few scattered remaining of their species. They were essentially an endangered species.

“Bumblebee is their youngest and last to be created by the All Spark,” Lennox put in, hoping the other humans understood the gravity of the situation. 

“But like humans, we take our culture, and our laws, very serious,” Prowl put in. 

“There has to be a trial,” The chief of police put in. “And if he’s found guilty by a jury, then they can decide his punishment.”

“A jury of his peers?’’ Lennox asked slowly, waiting for the absurdity of the words to sink in. When they did, the chief blushed. 

“As Prime, it is my decision,” Optimus said. 

The Chief of police looked from Secretary Keller to Captain Lennox.

“Officially, the military is out of this,” Lennox said, holding up his hands in defeat. “General Morshower said this is a civilian matter and to invoke military involvement means we’ll be setting ourselves up for civil, criminal liability.”

“Well, there’s no excusing his actions, traumatized or not,” the chief said, feeling a little caged in with the mechanical beings surrounding him. “That’s not an excuse for murdering three innocent teenagers.”

“The label of ‘innocence’ is misplaced,” Prowl said, giving the man a neutral expression. “According to police records, all three young humans were responsible for many alcohol related offenses even though they were considered under age to indulge in such actions. There were also numerous charges of theft, breaking and entering, criminal trespass, defacing public property…”

“Look, I get it,” the chief said, interrupting Prowl. “He’s your youngest. But you have to understand, he killed three…. three young boys in cold blood. Such actions demands that justice be done. If we don’t punish such actions, then our civilization will fall to chaos.”

“What do you suggest?” Keller asked.

“If this were any human committing such crimes, then there would be murder in the first, punishable by death,” Chief said.

Lennox visibly stiffened, his hands clenching into fists at the mention of such a punishment for Bumblebee. The young scout was suffering. He had lost something precious to him and the loss was eating him alive. Will could understand that. He would be equally as devastated if something so horrible happened to Annabelle. Just the very thought of putting his little girl to rest in the ground was enough to make the military man want to loss his mind. 

“Well, that’s not an option,’ Keller said, dismissing the Chief and turning to Optimus. “What about internment? There are government facilities that could keep your soldier incarcerated until his debt has been paid.”

Every Cybertronian shared a look. They had an idea what this ‘internment’ would incorporate. There would be no way Prime would allow such a thing. Bumblebee had been captured and tortured once before. To do so again, with his mind and spark so fragile, would be a crime worse than what they were currently facing. 

“That, Secretary Keller, is not an option,” Prime said.

“I’m sorry, Prime, but that’s the only options we have,” Keller said. “We either lock him up for an indefinite amount of time, or we go for the death penalty.”

“There has been enough death,’ Ratchet said, looking to Prime with a hardened gaze. 

“Cybertronian law dictates the same,” Prowl put in, hoping both sides would see the common ground. It wasn’t very reassuring.

“The death penalty is still available in California,” the chief said with a nod. “We don’t use it often, but its still an option.”

Optimus opened his mouth to speak when his comms erupted with Sunstreaker’s panicking voice.

‘Prime! Bumblebee’s…… gone!’


	20. Chapter Twenty

CHAPTER TWENTY

AN: Tissue warning, mentions of drunk driving and death. Don’t like don’t read. You’ve been warned!

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Judy awoke with a start. Something pulled her from her endless drifting dream. She frowned, rubbing her sore neck as she leaned against Bumblebee’s chassis, his hand draped over her protectively. She turned her head, looking at the bloody stains that congealed in the cracks and crevices of the plates that made his humanlike hands. She closed her eyes, willing the image to go away and nestled her head against the yellow chassis that had protected her during the night. She sighed, feeling as if something was off, but not quite figuring out what. A minute passed, her groggy mind trying to put reality together and wake her fully into the world. She fought against the tide, wanting to go back into the peace of sleep, but something bothered her. A frown creased her brow as she snuggled tighter into the warmth o Bumblebee’s chassis. 

As she moved away from her haven, she felt the distinct cold of metal greet her sleepy, inquisitive touch. She frowned and the out of place sensation. Hoping to understand the phenomena when she was more awake, Judy pressed her ear to the chassis.

And found silence. 

A frown deepened as her eyes fluttered open, her brow knitting in worry. She withdrew from the warm embrace the Camaro had bestowed upon her in the night. 

Bees face was lax, not signaling a return to consciousness. 

“Bee?” Judy asked in a hushed tone, giving a little push against the metal giant to rouse him. 

The metal was cool to the touch. Judy pressed her hands and her ear against the yellow chassis, right above his spark chamber. 

A stillness met her inquiry. No hum of drowsy systems. There was no pulse of life beating against its casing. Judy gasped, her hand covering her mouth as she pulled herself away, staring at the peaceful visage of the mech who had protected her son. Grey crawled along the yellow plating, signaling the loss of vibrant life within. Judy let out a choked sob, realizing the broken soul had succumbed to its grief.

“Bee! No!” Judy screamed, feeling around the immobile, expressionless face, searching for some kind of recognition. “Oh god, Bee. No!”

Judy’s’ yells startled Sunstreaker, who had drifted into a light charge outside of the cell. He threw the door open, and found Judy frantically touching Bumblebee’s face, her words running together in an incoherent babble. Sunstreaker ran to Bumblebee’s side, his limited scanners confirming the human’s anguished declarations.

Silence greeted his inquiring pings and scanners.

Sunstreaker rocked back on his haunches, stupefied at what he was witnessing. He opened a comm., his internal voice slow, confused, tortured.

‘Prime… Bumblebee’s…. gone.’

‘What do you mean, he’s gone?’ Prime asked, thinking the scout had slipped away undetected. He was trained that way. He could do it when he set his processor to it. 

‘Terminated,’ Sunstreaker said, opening the comms for everyone to hear. He didn’t want to repeat the news. It was hurting bad enough the first time. ‘Bumblebee’s spark has extinguished. He’s gone.’

‘What!?’ cried the shouting of Cybertronian voices. 

Without word Prime, Prowl, Ironhide and Ratchet left the conference, much to the collected humans’ confusion. Lennox hopped out of his chair and followed the mechs out. Secretary Keller and his aides following behind. The chief of police was the last to leave, his face turning ruddy from the venomous expressions from the military personal who overheard the conversation.

Prime was first into the cell. Ratchet came thundering like the Pit maker right behind. 

Judy was laying across Bumblebee’s face, her hands stroking in a pattern she used to employ when Sam was fevered. Her tears fell onto the lax face as she caressed the plates, muttering to the lifeless form that he was loved. She stroked along the side of Bee’s helm, over his optic shutters and along his cheeks. Her hands shook as she whispered, dropping kisses to the cooling metal and rubbing her cheek against the plates.

Prime touched the woman on the shoulder to gain her attention. With a sob she turned, wrapping her arms around the bulky hulk of a metal hand. Unsure what to do, Prime knelt immobile, allowing the woman to find what comfort she could in his presence. He stared at Bumblebee’s lifeless form and felt his own spark wither. 

Ratchet stepped around the two and employed his scanners, though he knew the diagnosis at first sight. Sunstreaker stayed knelt by Bumblebee’s helm, his expression blank. He looked like he had locked up. 

Sideswipe knew that wasn’t the case.

The humans gathered to the entrance of the door, looking into the cold isolated cell and finding Bumblebee’s fading form on the floor. Prime and Sunstreaker kneeling beside of the body, and Judy Witwicky clutching the Prime’s massive hand against her body as she cried.

“He’s gone!” Judy cried, burying her face against the warm metal of the protecting hand that offered her shelter from the torment. Judy’s grief-stricken sobs filled the stunned silent room, her grief speaking for both races. 

Captain Lennox entered the room and halted just inside, not wanting to intrude upon the moment. Judy’s words filled the room, going straight into the military man’s heart. He pressed his hand against his chest, feeling the woman’s anguish speak to him on a parental level. It was a voice that called to every parent and invaded their very soul with a ghostly touch.

“Who’s gone?” the chief of police asked when he joined Secretary Keller and his two aides at the threshold of the cell. 

The four humans could see the legs of a grayed body lying on the floor. A deep golden mech was knelt by the downed Autobot’s head and Optimus Prime was knelt in front of the body, blocking most of the view. A thin woman was weeping on Prime’s hand and the flamed leader looked terrified and skittish with the contact. It was clear, he wasn’t used to dealing with such emotional tides of the female persuasion. Not to mention what his own spark, and his warriors were feeling having one of their own lying cold upon the ground.

“Bumblebee is gone,’ Ratchet announced from where he stood behind Prime. There was something in his voice that made the other Autobots turn away, unable to look at one another.

“Bumblebee? The one responsible for this whole mess?” the chief of police asked, still not clear on the alien designations. He realized his blunder when the woman’s crying halted and her reddened face glare at him from across the room. Suddenly, the room was a lot smaller and oppressing. 

“You pompous asshole!” Judy shouted, her face contorted in sadness and rage. She removed herself from Prime’s hand, which he gratefully retracted from the human’s reach, and stalked over to the decorated man. “All of this started because people like you overlook idiocy! Had you done your job and upheld the law, none of this would have happened!”

“He killed three innocent boys!” the chief snapped, riled that this woman would treat him so callously.

Judy glared, her body seeming to swell in outrage as every fiber in her skinny body primed for a good tirade. Tears sparkled in her eyes, making them look like emeralds. Her lips were drawn back, showing her teeth in a snarl. Her bony fists were curled at her side.

Captain Lennox took a step away. If the woman was about to erupt, he was not going to get caught in the explosion. 

“Those innocent boys killed my son!” Judy spat, her voice cracking at the mention of Sam. “They got drunk and drove their car into Bumblebee. Not only did he have to suffer injuries that nearly killed him, but he had to endure having my Sammie to die in his interior!” Her face shone with anguish as she stared at the chief of police, her gaze going to Secretary Keller and his two aides, looking for help they were unwilling to give.

Judy’s voice was raw and violent, her words cutting deeper than any blade. “His interior is stained with the blood of my little boy.”

Sideswipe felt a chill sweep through his frame. He looked inside the room and saw his twin still kneeling unmoving next to Bumblebee’s helm. Prime and Ratchet were standing in front of the golden mech, keeping vigil over the human confrontation. Sideswipe wanted to get his brother away from the emotional battlefield but with the humans currently blocking the doorway, he couldn’t risk it. 

The Chief of Police steeled himself, squaring his shoulders and giving the grieving woman a cold look. “The boys were on probation.”

“It’s because of pricks like you that allow murderers to get a slap on the wrist,” Judy snarled. She took a step toward the man. Had her baseball bat been in her hand, she would have been swinging. She’d show them the true meaning of justice. “My son was killed because of someone else’s recklessness. And when Bumblebee realized the culprits were going to do it again, he took action. He punished those who had taken a life that was precious to him.” The Chief made to speak but Judy raised her voice, cutting off any verbal commentary from the officer. “And to his mother and father, who had to put their baby boy in the ground because someone thought it would be a good idea to drive drunk. They took my Sammie away from me and from my husband. Away from Bee.” Her gaze locked onto the Chief of Police as she added, “Imagine what it would be like holding the one you love in your arms as they die.”

Will Lennox looked away, tears threatening to overwhelm him. He’d be lost if something like that happened to his little Annabelle. He couldn’t fathom holding her tiny body as she bled out and he was unable to stop it. If that happened… he’d be a mad demon, destroying anything in his path to see his little girl avenged. It was a basic instinct of parents to protect their young, at whatever cost. 

Judy’s voice lost its vehemence. She deflated before the collected group, her voice cracking. “I lost one son, and now I’ve lost another. There is no worse pain than the loss of a child, regardless of their planet of origin.” 

Prime, ever the leader, though at the moment he wanted nothing more than the pass the burden on to someone else, cleared his vents. The pain and suffering was too much to bear, for human mother and Cybertronian friend. He looked to the stunned Chief of police and to Keller, who had remained silent through the emotional display, though his face quirked in suppressed anguish as he put himself in place of the grieving.

“The one you wished to punish is now gone,’ Prime said, his voice even though he felt like howling his torment. “He has allowed his own life to expire in penance.”

The Chief of Police looked to Secretary Keller, hoping the man would take lead in the situation. Much to his surprise, Keller’s face was ruddy, his lips pursed tight. He offered a curt nod to the alien leader.

“You have my condolences,” Keller said before turning on his heel and leaving, his two aides bustling behind. 

“I suggest you take your leave,” Sideswipe said to the Chief of Police. His blades extended and retracted with a soft whooshing sound, his optics staring unblinkingly into the human’s eyes. Sideswipe added a swick! of his blades to hurry the man’s retreat.

Chastised by an angry mother and dismissed by the robotic aliens, the Chief gave a nod and took his leave. They may have been two different species, but they were united in their grief. 

When the officer left, Sideswipe pushed his way inside the cell. He nudged Prime aside, earning rumbling threat of protest from the much bigger mech. But Prime’s rebuke went unnoticed. 

“Come on, Sunny,” Sideswipe said, standing behind his brother and hoisting him to his pedes. 

Sunstreaker sat on his haunches, staring at the lifeless husk of the young scout. He had liked Bumblebee. He was a bright spark in a world full of darkness and ugliness.   
His optics were transfixed on the wet spots upon the gray armor, Judy’s grief painting the shell with her tears of sorrow. Sunstreaker allowed himself to be hoisted up by his brother and escorted from the room. His processor looped the strange, emotional display from the human woman, her voice mirroring his own grief. And oh, how he envied the woman’s tears.

Captain Lennox went to the sniffling, shaking woman and held out his arms in silent permission. Bonelessly, she fell against the military man, allowing him to encompass her in a hug that not only offered solace from the pain, but protection from further heartache.

And together, two parents mourned the loss of yet another child.

 

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THE END

No, there wont be a sequel or other chapters. 

Hope you enjoyed and feel free to leave a positive review. Negative reviews and threats will be placed in the circular file.


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